


Let This Be the Healing

by amphitrite, litra



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Courting Rituals, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Force Bond (Star Wars), Forced Bonding, Inappropriate Use of the Force, M/M, Mutual Pining, Some angst, Soul Bond, The equivalent of it anyway, Webcam/Video Chat Sex, because i can't help myself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:22:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29605215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amphitrite/pseuds/amphitrite, https://archiveofourown.org/users/litra/pseuds/litra
Summary: What Zeb and Kallus pick up on Bahryn is not a meteorite: It's an ancient Force artifact used to keep beings tethered to each other—to create an everlasting bond between them in the Force.While Zeb returns to the Rebellion and Kallus begins searching for the answers Zeb urged him to find, they start seeing each other everywhere. With no other choice, they form a careful truce.As their shared visions continue, Zeb begins to see Kallus in a new light and becomes determined to recruit him. What he doesn't know is that Kallus is already a double agent, alone among his Empire-loyal colleagues—and that his gratitude toward Zeb has developed into something much deeper.
Relationships: Alexsandr Kallus/Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios
Comments: 34
Kudos: 107
Collections: Kalluzeb Mini-Bang 2021





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been dying to write this trope for years and am thrilled to share this story with you all for the Kalluzeb Mini-Bang!
> 
> Many thanks to the multitalented [Litra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/litra/pseuds/litra) for the wonderful art!

>   
>  _let ruin end here_
> 
> _let him find honey  
>  where there was once a slaughter_
> 
> _let him enter the lion’s cage  
>  & find a field of lilacs_
> 
> _let this be the healing  
>  if not let it be_
> 
> —“little prayer,” Danez Smith

  


  


“Here, warm yourself up.”

Though startled, Kallus instinctively caught the item Orrelios had thrown at him. It appeared to be a meteorite, still warm from its entry into the atmosphere. Instantly, it gave his numb, freezing fingers relief.

Cradling the luminous rock, he stared up at Orrelios, shocked. He had seen Imperial soldiers ignore direct orders from their officers or sell out their comrades, in order to save their own skins in a precarious situation—or even just to earn some credits on the side. This rebel, who Kallus had pursued and spent years trying to kill, was going out of his way to help him without batting an eye.

Kallus had never experienced such a thoughtless act of kindness. Orrelios had every reason to crush his head—as he’d so helpfully pointed out—but he had instead given Kallus a tool that would make him less vulnerable.

It was the memory of this benevolent gesture that stayed his hand later in the night, as he sighted down Orrelios’s bo-rifle and shot the roaring bonzami. He pretended not to see Orrelios’s surprise and gratitude.

After the fight, they stumbled through the blizzard. Sharp waves of pain shot down Kallus’s injured leg with every step, and the rest of him was freezing. Orrelios slowed his gait without saying anything about it, which Kallus found both annoying and touching.

“Just a little while longer,” Orrelios shouted through the storm.

“I’m fine!” Kallus lied. He immediately tripped on something in the snow, slipping and losing his balance.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Orrelios caught him, holding him up with seemingly little effort. His embrace was warm, his thick-muscled arms so strong that they lifted Kallus off the ground for a second. “You all right?”

“Yes,” Kallus grunted, righting himself and shaking Orrelios off.

Orrelios gave him a skeptical look, then squinted at something past his shoulder. “This way,” he said, nudging Kallus to the northwest. “Looks like an outcrop or something. Should be able to shelter there for a bit.”

It was a relief to be out of the blizzard, but the surface was much colder than the cavern had been. Orrelios helped him down to the ground and then began to explore the area. While he scouted for any other enemies, Kallus huddled around the warm meteorite, resenting his uselessness. Anxiety knotted in his chest; he doubted he could make it through another fight. He willed his hands to stop shaking as they hovered over the meteorite.

He was surprised to feel relieved when Orrelios returned, crouching low and grabbing the transponder he had left there.

“Let’s hope it works,” Kallus said, fanning his fingers across the warmth of the glowing rock. “Of course, since you ‘adjusted’ it, we don’t know who will pick up the signal.”

“Guess all we can do is wait,” Orrelios said, setting it down again and reaching over to bathe his hands in the heat of the meteorite as well. “’Least we have this to keep us warm.”

Kallus wished they had the means to make a fire—a crude, old-fashioned practice but one the Royal Imperial Academy still taught. Dying of hypothermia was not the glorious, Empire-serving end he had pictured for himself.

“Still think your friends will find you?” he asked, projecting his voice to be heard over the howling wind.

“Unless the Empire gets here first.”

Kallus looked down at his injured leg, considering. Orrelios had treated him so kindly, honorably refusing to fight an injured being. In all the Empire’s briefs about insurgents of any affiliation, the fact that they were criminal terrorists was unfailingly clear. His own encounter with Saw Guerrera’s attack dogs had left him no doubt about it. Certainly in battle Orrelios had always seemed like a savage, fearsome beast. But since they had landed on this forsaken moon, he had been nothing but clever and considerate and capable.

What else had the Empire been wrong about?

There was one thing that immediately came to mind.

“On Lasan... It...it wasn’t supposed to be a massacre,” he admitted, the decade-old guilt, forced down for so long, making his stomach lurch in remembrance. “But I realized the Empire wanted to make an example. I know before, I took credit for it.” Perhaps it was madness induced by hypothermia, but Kallus suddenly needed this singular being to know he had not been responsible for ordering the genocide of his people.

Then, without warning, a sharp bolt of pain lanced through Kallus—not from his injured leg or ribs, but something else, deeper within him. He was so distracted by the odd feeling that he almost missed Orrelios’s next words:

“What happened on Lasan—it’s over for me. I’ve moved on.”

Immediately, Kallus knew Orrelios was lying, and he felt a foreign sense of shame about it that took him by surprise.

“By the way, it’s Zeb. My name—it’s Zeb.”

“Short for Garazeb,” Kallus said, the foreign name unexpectedly comfortable in his mouth. “I know.” Not so long ago, he had studied the Zeb’s file in the Imperial databases, the part of him that was thrilled at the providential symmetry of hunting the last Lasat warring with the part that was privately glad at least one being had survived the cleansing. 

Zeb looked at him in surprise, brow ridge cocked.

Kallus gazed back at him, something strange and warm coursing through his body, tingling him from head to toe. It felt strangely right, like something deep within himself finally clicking into place.

  


* * *

  


By the next morning, Zeb’s friends had tracked the transponder signal to the ice moon. When Zeb asked Kallus to go with them, he was filled with an uncharacteristic yearning. He wanted to stay with Zeb, wherever he went—to fight by his side and be with him always.

It was irrational. He had a job—a duty—and Zeb was supposed to be his enemy.

Pushing the feeling aside, he bowed to Zeb, risking a tiny smile. A sudden, painful shudder rocked through Kallus as Zeb walked away, and he closed his eyes against the intense wave of emotion.

The sensation only increased in intensity as the rebel ship took off. From behind the rock wall, Kallus watched it go. Reflecting on how Zeb had taken care of him, he suddenly longed for something unspeakable.

Sighing, he carefully lowered himself back onto the ground. He wrapped himself around the meteorite and stared despondently at the transponder, feeling hopelessly alone.

  


* * *

  


A trader—a Human with an Expansion Region accent—picked up his signal. At least, that was what she professed to be. Given the state of her patchworked freighter, Kallus suspected it was more of a smuggling operation, and that the captain hoped he was important enough for someone to pay for his return.

“I recognized your uniform, Agent,” she said as the freighter exited the atmosphere, creaking at a worrisome volume. Outside the viewport, Geonosis loomed large and vermillion, surrounded by the remnants of Project Stardust construction modules. “My younger sibling is in training to become an ISB agent. They’re set to graduate in a standard month.”

Ah, it was a connection this trader was hoping to make, in hopes of getting her sibling a leg up once they joined the ranks. Well, she would gain little from association with Kallus. The Core was undoubtedly a morass of nepotism, but Kallus did his best to steer clear of it. Occasionally, he would give someone else from the Coruscant undercity some simple advice and a chance to prove themselves—but that was the extent of it.

For now, though, he would play along, asking for the cadet’s name and agreeing to look into them when he returned to the Imperial Complex.

The trader was scheduled to make a drop at a trading post one parsec away and advised Kallus to take a passenger shuttle from there to get back to the other end of the Outer Rim. In the meantime, he helped himself to the medical supplies she was willing to part with. A few pain tabs would do him wonders, especially if he was going to be trapped in a civilian vessel for some time.

They arrived at Komenko Outpost in the evening, local time. The spaceport was located on a bustling space station, full of freighters, non-Humans, and inventory droids. The sounds of merchants hawking their wares and dock workers shouting at one another filled the air. There were myriad colorful banners draped across the docking area in a language Kallus didn’t recognize.

Cradling the meteorite to this cuirass, Kallus thanked the trader and limped down the ship’s wobbly ramp. Not content to say goodbye so soon, she followed him to a banking console in the main courtyard, hand on her holstered blaster. Kallus got the message: He sent a handsome amount of credits to the trader’s casually provided account.

After she departed, he withdrew some credits of his own—he was going to need them to get back to the Lawbringer. Idly, he wondered what Zeb was doing now. Their disparate paths had converged on the ice moon, and Kallus felt strangely bereft about their roads diverging once again.

“Hey, what’s the hold up?”

Kallus turned to glare at the impatient being behind him and was confused to instead see someone he hadn’t expected there.

“Zeb?!”

“Karabast, did I fall asleep again?” Zeb grumbled. Behind him was the spaceport’s bustling market, the wide avenue filled with gaggles of tourists bartering for souvenirs, rows of farmers peddling their neon-colored produce, and ramshackle speeder bikes weaving through the aisles. It was as if Zeb were a hologram someone had beamed in, except that he was nearly opaque and his movements lacked the infinitesimal choppiness that came with even the most advanced holoprojectors.

“Hallucinations don’t need sleep,” Kallus protested—very reasonably, he thought. “I must have fallen and hit my head very hard.”

“That’s weird—I feel very real. I think you’re the illusion.” Zeb scrubbed at his face, and his ears flicked. “How did you get into my room?”

“What? I’m not in your room. I’m on a space station.”

“Hmm,” Zeb said doubtfully. “Let’s say it’s really you—did you get off the ice moon?”

“I did,” Kallus said. “I’m on my way back to Lothal.”

“You’re still going back to the Empire?”

“Surely you didn’t think that, just because you saved my life, I would go AWOL? Or defect?”

There was a funny look on Zeb’s face, and a tightness that wasn’t his own in Kallus’s chest.

“No,” Zeb said, “’course not.”

“Regardless,” Kallus said, ignoring the sudden ache and pinching his forearm through his tunic as both a test and distraction. “This must be a pain tab–induced delusion.”

But when he looked up, Zeb was gone, replaced by an angry Gozzo who shoved past him with their wing. Kallus stumbled, disoriented, and regained his balance just in time to avoid injuring himself further.

“What was that?” he murmured to himself. He needed to get back to the Imperial Complex and see a medical droid as soon as possible.

Feeling lightheaded, Kallus found a kiosk that was serving Alderaanian meals and purchased a small portion of gruel, unsure what his stomach could handle after two Standard days without food. He had barely moved after Zeb left, huddling around the meteorite and doing his best to stay awake. He had been so out of it that he’d barely even noticed the trader’s freighter landing.

When the old GG-class serving droid handed him his order, Kallus fumbled with the bowl, his other hand occupied with the meteorite. The latter clattered to the ground, rolling toward the main throughway.

An inordinate panic struck Kallus, and he dropped his food to hobble after the meteorite, cursing his injured leg. He received funny looks from the spaceport’s passersby, but he ignored them as well as the honks of the speeders and the droid’s shouting. After retrieving the meteorite, Kallus shuffled under the construction scaffolding across from the kiosk.

They all probably thought he was mad, but he didn’t care. Illogical as it was, the thought of losing the meteorite was terrifying. It had seen him through a perilous situation—and it was a gift from Zeb.

What that meant was too foolish to consider, so Kallus put it aside and made his way back across the street, hoping to soothe the offended droid and buy something else to eat.

  


  



	2. Chapter 2

  


  


When Zeb awoke the next day, he brushed off the bizarre dream he’d had about Kallus. The Spectres were on a mission to the Telaris system, and with Kanan and Ezra off doing their Jedi thing, Zeb was needed on the ground.

The purpose of the mission was to collect intel from an undercover inventory officer on the ISD _Devotion,_ a vessel that was doing a top-secret investigation in this part of the Outer Rim. The information was related to Arkanis Academy's Project Unity and Project Harvester, from which one of Ezra's friends had helped two beings escape—beings who had agreed to join the Rebellion. It was an extremely risky job despite Commander Sato’s confidence in his source, so the Spectres had volunteered for the mission.

Now Zeb was covering for Sabine while she dashed through stacks of crates in a hidden corner of the cargo hangar, setting up detonators.

He had just gleefully taken out a stormtrooper patrol when Kallus was there all of a sudden, a frown creasing his face.

“Kallus?” Zeb said, just as mystified. “Am I dreaming again?”

“Or am I?” Kallus replied. He looked down at the ground where Zeb had slammed a stormtrooper onto the durasteel floor, his hand still wrapped around the back of the soldier’s neck.

With a creeping sense of dread, Zeb realized Kallus must’ve been able to see the fallen soldier but not anything Zeb wasn’t touching, because his voice suddenly changed at the sight of the trooper, turning sharp and flinty. “You’re on the _Devotion,”_ he said, locking eyes with Zeb.

Zeb didn’t confirm it, his pulse racing as he endeavored to keep his gaze steady. There was an emblem on this stormtrooper’s pauldron that Kallus must recognize—maybe he couldn’t see where Zeb was but could see things he touched? He dropped the stormtrooper and stood, stretching up to his true height and looking down at Kallus. If this was even Kallus at all, and not just a figment of his overactive imagination. But it would be safest to assume the worst-case scenario, considering it could put the Spectres and the other rebels at risk.

“Are you going to turn me in?” he asked warily, gaze hard.

Kallus hesitated, glancing past Zeb as if he were eager to glean more confidential information.

“No,” he said finally. “But now we’re even.”

“Spectre-4!” Sabine called, and Zeb whirled around to see a new squad of stormtroopers approaching. Conversation forgotten, he dashed toward them, tackling three at once.

Amid the brawl, Kallus disappeared, and Zeb was too busy smashing bucketheads together to notice.

But after they collected the pertinent intel and climbed aboard the _Phantom_ , blasters and bo-rifle ablazing, Zeb saw Sabine scrutinizing him.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he grumbled.

“What happened down there?” she asked from the pilot’s seat, rapidly hitting switches on the control panel as she worked with Chopper to prepare the shuttle’s fancy new hyperdrive for a jump.

Zeb rubbed his neck. “What’d’ya mean?”

Narrowing her eyes at him, Sabine said, “Don’t give me that. It’s not like you to be distracted in a fight. What is it?”

Zeb sighed and shook his head, giving in. Mandalorian persistence was legendary, and he was too shaken to put his own Lasat stubbornness to the test.

“I’ve just felt really weird since Geonosis,” he confessed. “I kinda think I’m losing my mind.”

“Can you lose it when I’m not counting on you to watch my back?”

Zeb huffed and gave her a friendly shove.

Sabine chuckled, and, at Chopper’s squawk, she yanked the hyperdrive lever. Zeb braced himself, and the _Phantom_ shuddered into hyperspace, knocking them back in their seats.

“Maybe you should see Phoenix Home’s medical droid once we’re back,” Sabine said once they were speeding down the hyperspace lane. “With Kanan and Ezra gone, we’re going to need you at one hundred percent.”

Zeb rolled his eyes. “Okay, Hera.”

Sabine snorted. “Just a suggestion, big guy. Remember our pact to defeat the Empire together? I plan on seeing that through. That means you can’t die of hypothermia now.”

Zeb sighed. “I’ll go once we’ve been debriefed.”

“Good. Guess I’ll give you another chance as my backup then.”

“Nah, next time you’ll be _my_ backup,” Zeb said loftily, grinning toothily at her.

Sabine smirked, brows lifting at the challenge. “We’ll see about that.”

  


* * *

  


According to the medical droid, there was nothing wrong with him, other than being sleep-deprived, just like all the other members of Phoenix Cell.

Delusions were a symptom of sleep deprivation, but even after two full nights of sleep, Zeb still saw glimpses of Kallus throughout the rest of the Standard week. Sometimes he disappeared before Zeb had the chance to say anything, and other times they spoke, both frustrated and confused about what was happening.

Not only that, but Zeb had also realized that he was feeling stray emotions that must’ve been Kallus’s—trepidation, horror, regret, confusion, fear. Was that normal for an Imperial?

Just over one week after his return, Zeb gathered his courage and sought out a second opinion. In the privacy of Kanan’s room, he confessed what had really happened on Bahryn and explained what had begun happening afterward. Kanan listened raptly, eyes wide. 

“So that’s why I’ve been sensing another being around us!” he exclaimed when Zeb finished his tale. “I assumed it was Vader.” 

“Not sure this is any better,” Zeb said grimly. “Do you know why this would be happening? Starting to worry it’s gonna be a security issue.”

“Hmm,” Kanan said, rubbing his chin, “you’re not going to like my hypothesis.”

“Out with it—you’re making me nervous.”

“The thing is—I think you have good reason to be. What you’re describing sounds like a Force bond. I suspect you may have formed one with our good friend.”

In his shock, Zeb knocked over one of the weird Jedi gadgets Kanan had sitting around.

“A what now?” he growled, leaning over carefully to pick it back up.

“You heard me."

“And what exactly does a Force bond entail?”

“Well, it’s—” Kanan paused. “It’s a sacred soul bond. In the old days, Jedi Padawans were bonded to their Masters. I assume the Sith must have had similar rituals. It allowed two Force-sensitive beings to communicate across great distances, forming a psychic link. Whether it took depended on the compatibility of the beings involved. I’ve never heard of it happening to non–Force sensitives, though—is there something you haven’t been telling me?”

Zeb shook his head firmly. “Definitely not. I still don’t know if I even _believe_ in the Force.”

Kanan smiled his mysterious Jedi Knight smile. “The Force is real all right. And maybe if the connection between your souls in the Force was strong enough—”

“There’s no connection between us!” Zeb spluttered. “He’s an Imp!”

But sometime on Bahryn, Kallus had become something more than an evil Imperial—he had become a real Human, with hopes and fears, and in a moment when he could have easily exterminated Zeb, he had chosen to save him.

“Okay, okay, let me think.” Kanan fiddled with his lightsaber, lost in thought. “I remember my master warning me about an accident at the Temple where a trio of curious younglings got ahold of an holocron that backfired and bound all the kids—plus a senator’s child, who allegedly wasn’t Force-sensitive—together.”

Zeb froze. The meteorite he had found on Bahryn and given to Kallus. “We did pick something up from the ice moon—a glowing rock. We thought it was a meteorite. It kept us warm for the rest of our stay.”

“And you were on one of Geonosis’s moons...” Kanan tapped his lightsaber against his thigh. His voice adopted that distant, scholarly tone that always appeared when he spoke of his life before the formation of the Empire. “During the First Battle of Geonosis, many novice Jedi were called to fight—myself included. It’s possible an artifact one of them was studying was carelessly left behind, or the droids stole it from one of them and then abandoned it when they couldn’t figure out how to utilize it. Because the moon is so inhospitable, it might have been sitting in wait for years.”

“Yeah, we found it in a cave full of bonzami, so safe to say we were the first ones there in a very long time.”

“If only we had access to the Jedi archives. I’m sure we could find out more about it there.”

“We don’t need to find out more about it—we just need to destroy it," Zeb insisted.

“I hear you,” Kanan said. “I’ll look into it and see what Ahsoka thinks. You keep an eye on our friend for now. You’re right—it might be a security issue.”

Zeb stood up and mock-saluted. “Your assistance is appreciated, Master Jedi.”

Kanan returned the irreverent gesture. “Anytime, Captain Orrelios.”

  


* * *

  


Two days after Zeb’s conversation with Kanan, Kallus appeared to him while he was polishing his bo-rifle at the dejarik table in the lounge.

“Not again,” Kallus groaned, covering his face. He was seated and slumped over, looking as if he had just awoken from a nap. The bags under his eyes were even bigger and darker than the ones that decorated the faces of Phoenix Cell. Zeb felt a twinge of sympathy that he immediately shoved away; even if they had come to an understanding on Bahryn, Kallus was still an Imperial. Nothing had really changed. “This is not what I need today.”

“Good to see you, too.” Zeb rolled his eyes and set the oil and microsynth cleaning cloth aside. He kept his grip on his bo-rifle despite knowing that he couldn't injure this projection of Kallus. “What’s going on with you?”

“You try working with Pryce and Konstantine every day and see how your week goes,” Kallus fumed, his voice hoarse. “Even the lieutenants have been particularly impossible to work. Not to mention whatever _this_ is.”

“About that,” Zeb said cautiously, scratching his head. “I asked our resident Jedi about it, and he thinks it might be some magical Force curse.”

Kallus’s brows rose. “A curse?”

“Well, he actually called it a bond, but I’m thinking being bonded to your enemy has got to be a curse.”

“Am I?” Your enemy.”

Curious, Zeb threw the question back at him. “Aren’t you?”

Kallus ran an anxious hand over his primly styled hair and didn’t meet Zeb’s gaze. “I don’t know. Perhaps. Perhaps not.” Face pinched, he brushed some nonexistent lint from his cuirass strap and said grimly, “Regardless of how I feel, I must continue to do my duty.”

Huh. Maybe Zeb hadn’t imagined the camaraderie they had shared that fateful night, and maybe Kallus was also confused about what their brief understanding meant now that the interlude was over and they were back where they belonged.

“Why did you go back to the Empire?” he asked. “Why did—”

He froze.

While he was speaking, Kallus had picked up a datapad, its holoprojector still active. Just before he switched it off, Zeb caught a glimpse of what he had been studying: The display was open to a starmap of the Lothal sector, the Raikol system highlighted. To have been so reckless, he must have been truly exhausted.

Kallus jerked his head up, finally returning Zeb’s stare. “You didn’t see that.”

“Better be careful, or you’re going to owe me again.”

“I will do no such thing. Regardless of what this is, it shouldn’t change anything we do. ”

Zeb’s ears flickered, disquieted. He didn’t speak for a moment, just to keep Kallus guessing. “A truce, then?” he said. “Everything in these conversations stays confidential.”

“Fine,” Kallus said. The datapad disappeared from his hand; he must have put it back down. “If touching something makes it visible to each other, then we should avoid it as much as possible.”

“Deal,” Zeb agreed. “And in the meantime, stay out of trouble, all right? I don’t want to find out what happens to me if you die.”

But Kallus disappeared without fanfare before he could respond. It was the longest conversation they’d had since Bahryn.

Feeling strangely bereft at its end, Zeb shook his head to clear it and stood up to stretch his legs. He hoped Kanan would be able to find a cure soon. Whatever was happening was messing with his head, and he needed to be at a hundred percent to help scout potential bases for Phoenix Cell.

After the disaster on Garel, the rebels couldn’t afford any more setbacks.

  


* * *

  


[ ](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/KalluzebMiniBang2021/works/29765895)

  


* * *

  


Kallus continued appearing and disappearing at random points in Zeb’s days: Sometimes he was just a smudge in the distance or on a battlefield, and other times it was almost as if Kallus were right beside him, close enough for Zeb to touch. But upon testing the bond, they had discovered that they couldn’t feel each other or anything on the other side of the connection; Zeb’s fingers had gone right through Kallus’s, and neither had felt a thing.

During the debrief of a reconnaissance mission gone wrong, Kallus appeared beside him at Chopper Base's holotable as Sato was dressing them down for disobeying his orders not to engage with the enemy. Zeb reared in shock, forgetting for a moment that Kallus was only an illusion.

“Zeb,” Kallus said. He didn’t look too good—those dark circles under his eyes had only gotten deeper, and his hands were clenched in fists that were trembling minutely. “May I speak with you?”

Zeb raised his brow ridges. Kallus had never requested such a thing before. “Kinda in the middle of something right now.”

“Please; it’s important.”

Perplexed, Zeb nodded and excused himself, ignoring Sato’s disappointed expression and Hera’s concern. He had figured out by now that they couldn’t see his visions of Kallus or hear them talking. Sato probably just thought he was absentminded, but he knew Hera was starting to suspect something else was going on. He’d deal with her later. For now, he strode over to the munitions supply depot and ducked behind an aisle of blaster charger crates to avoid AP-5. He shivered at the sight of Krykna scuttering near a sensor beacon not too far away.

“What is it, Kallus?”

Kallus massaged his temple with his gloved hand. “So,” he started, his voice unusually trepidatious and quiet. “I’ve been doing something outrageously foolish since I returned from the ice moon.” 

Zeb frowned. “More foolish than joining a military that raids peaceful worlds and indiscriminately kills beings who look or think differently from them?”

Kallus flinched, and it was admittedly satisfying to see. “You know—quite possibly,” he said.

Crossing his arms, Zeb retorted, “Try me.”

“Well,” Kallus said, and then he looked around at what must’ve been his quarters, a hunted expression creasing his features. “I’ve been looking for your answers.”

Zeb drew himself up to his full height, eyes wide. “ _Really?”_

Kallus nodded. “There's much more to investigate, but...I’ve already learned a lot.” He stared down at his hands as if they alone held the meaning of the universe. “Today, I researched the Siege of Lasan and what little of Lasat history and survey records still remain in Imperial databanks.”

Zeb couldn’t help it: His voice came out as a whisper: “And?”

Kallus took a deep breath and caught Zeb’s gaze. “I owe you and your people a deep apology. I judged you based on my impression of the first Lasat I met, and from that moment on, I let my grief justify reckless murder and genocide, and the abetment of others who would do the same.”

His eyes closed briefly, continuing to speak softly. “I understand now: Lasan was a beautiful place filled with honorable warriors and innocent people. Destroying it was cruel and senseless, and all it begot was the theft of natural resources from the people who had tended to the land for millennia.

“I know it doesn’t mean much at this point, but I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

For a long time, Zeb just stared at him, taking his words in. His chest was tight with pain and a sharp longing. It had been so long since someone had talked about the siege in depth. Even when Kanan and Hera had first freed him from the clutches of the Karazak Slavers Cooperative, he had only provided them with the bare bones. It wasn’t until later, when he had repeatedly disrupted their sleep with his constant nightmares, that Kanan had pried the full story out of him.

“Thank you for the apology,” he said at last. “Gotta admit I never expected to hear that from any Imp, much less from you.”

“You were kind to me when you could have killed me with little effort. I owed you at least a look into what happened on your homeworld. What I found was not what I expected.”

“You must’ve expected it a little bit.”

Kallus shook his head. “During my ISB schooling, they told us we were dismantling old Separatist strongholds and quelling insurrections that sought to depose the Emperor, in order to bring peace and order to all the systems. I thought—the more power the Empire had, the more easily it could make the galaxy a better place.”

He pressed his mouth into a flat line. Zeb had never heard him say so much at once, and he kept silent so as to hear all of what he had to say.

“But I’ve discovered that what the Joint Chiefs really wanted was to strip resource-rich Outer Rim worlds, and testing prototype weapons on entire species was just a convenient way to do it. They always taught us that the most efficient way to bring peace to a planet was to eliminate the troublemakers. But ninety-nine percent of Lasan residents were civilians.”

Zeb bit back his instinctual growl at the memory of his brothers-in-arms crumbling to pieces, no trace of their bodies left for the proper burial rites. Days later, when the siege showed no sign of ending and he'd lost nearly all of his family, he’d realized that was the least of their problems.

“I know you’re smart,” he said. “You have to be, to have been such a thorn in our sides for so long. But you’re telling me that you’ve never wondered if what you were doing was right?”

“I did, back at the Academy,” Kallus admitted. “Some strategies they taught us appeared extraneously cruel, and they led to a higher number of civilian casualties and stormtrooper deaths than seemed necessary. I thought them inefficient and asked my tactics professor about it. Her response? _Good soldiers don’t ask questions. They act on the orders they are given._ ” He sighed, using his sleeve to wipe away the sweat that had gathered on his brow. “So I strove not to. And whenever my orders made me uncomfortable, I always assumed that was due to my own shortcomings—not the Empire’s.”

“Disliking brutal violence and genocide is not a shortcoming,” Zeb said firmly, pounding his fist into his palm. “In fact, it might be your most impressive trait.”

Kallus chuckled, sounding a little hysterical. Zeb was glad to see the tense expression on his face recede, though his eyes still held a trace of anxiety. “Is that so?”

Zeb blinked, his brain catching up with him. Was that—was Kallus _flirting_ with him? Couldn’t be. Just an apology from Kallus had been enough to confound him. Now it felt as if he were short-circuiting. It was the only explanation for what came out of his mouth next:

“Maybe I just haven’t had the chance to witness any other impressive traits of yours.”

Ah, blast. At his words, Kallus’s eyes grew huge. He looked as if he had accidentally walked right into a wall. Zeb covered his face and wished the ground would swallow him up. He wanted the vision to end immediately.

To his astonishment, as soon as the thought crossed his mind, the vision faded away. Just as Kallus disappeared, though, Zeb caught a privileged glimpse of his reddened face.

He slumped against the crates, cursing himself. He had taken a serious conversation down an inappropriate road, probably because he had been feeling vulnerable following Kallus’s admissions. Zeb’s fancies were wide-ranging and he’d always been a bit of a flirt, but trying it on an Imp—a karking ISB agent—was in bad taste, even for him. That said Imperial had expressed penitence still wasn't enough to justify it.

Obviously, Zeb had just been alone for too long while working too hard. Maybe it was time for a different kind of mission, a solo one to a bustling metropolis, where he might meet some friendly tourists interested in spending the night with a Lasat. It’d probably help clear his head.

And maybe get golden-eyed Imperials off his mind.

  


  



	3. Chapter 3

  


  


Kallus was losing it.

_All leads must be pursued,_ they’d taught him at the Academy. But every new file he sliced brought on new horrors tied to the orders he hadn’t questioned. It had all been in the service of the Empire. But if the Empire was a greedy, planet-stealing, power-hungry arm of the Emperor that not only wanted to quash dissent but also destroy non-Human and noncompliant civilizations entirely—then Kallus was part of the problem.

He had taken pride in being recruited for the Imperial Security Bureau—had seen it as proof that he was stronger and more perceptive than his peers, and that he was seen as capable of doing the difficult, dirty work that the silver-spooned Coruscanti surface dwellers flinched at. But if he had only been selected because his ambitious climb from the undercity made him an easy soldier to manipulate—someone who would obey orders, no matter how unsavory they seemed, because their status meant too much to them—then he had only been rewarded for being a fool.

And that meant Kallus had wasted not only his career but his entire life.

He oscillated between wishing he had never been told to look where he wasn’t welcome and being angry that he hadn’t figured it out sooner.

But that didn’t really matter. What mattered was his next move. Would he pretend he had never found out? Or would he defect and join the rebels? Both options were unthinkable. And if he became a deserter, the Empire would undoubtedly find him and unceremoniously eliminate him.

But maybe there was another way. A careful balance.

Finding a way to contact rebel leaders wasn’t difficult for an ISB agent—gaining their trust was the hard part. But Kallus knew their numbers were small and that they were desperate for both more intelligence and more boots on the ground. They gave him an encrypted frequency key and a codename, and initially they left his contributions up to him.

So Kallus started out small—fetching rosters that listed which fleets or squadrons were entering the Lothal system, the location of several abandoned bases with old but possibly still functioning weapons or transports, the _Lawbringer_ ’s shore leave itinerary, the fastest trick to temporarily disable an Imperial detonator. Data packages were easy to trace, so most of his information was shared via calls on the secret frequency, which was untraceable and automatically disguised his voice.

It was absolutely terrifying. Every week, Kallus would search for excuses to leave the ship to send his Fulcrum transmissions, leaving his bo-rifle in his quarters to avoid being recognized. Terror flooded him every time he opened the frequency, and then the adrenaline always stayed with him even after he closed the channel.

But it also felt...good. He had closely monitored the rebels’ movements and actions for a long time, but now their successes and their narrow escapes were satisfying to see—evidence of his usefulness, ways in which his intel had helped them accomplish a goal, be it capturing a stray crate of rations or hijacking an Imperial light cruiser. The rush became addictive, and the value of the information Kallus provided began to increase.

It was a useful distraction, also, from the shared visions he was having with Zeb. They had begun to happen more regularly, sometimes every day, and Kallus had secretly begun to look forward to their conversations, brief as they sometimes were.

They couldn’t talk about their missions, they couldn’t discuss their comrades, and they couldn’t talk about their day-to-days in anything but vagaries—so they spoke of their pasts. Kallus had started it, tentatively asking Zeb: “Will you tell me what it was like? Your home planet?”

Initially, Zeb had refused, his ears flattening against his head. A wave of foreign sorrow and anger had passed through Kallus before the vision ended abruptly. He had sat in his quarters for a long time after that, staring at his hands in shame and cursing his foolishness.

Instead, the next time they met, with Zeb sitting in a wicker chair and seeming more relaxed, Kallus talked about studying at Royal Imperial—about enrolling at the beginning of the Clone Wars and graduating into a vastly different political environment. One he’d celebrated, having witnessed how corrupt the Galactic Senate his entire life. He told Zeb about his mother, who lived in the lower levels of Coruscant all her life, and his absent father from the upper-class Level 5125.

He described the permanent darkness of the undercity and the loud neon lights shopkeepers used to compensate, as well as the noxious air that he hadn’t known wasn’t normal until he visited Imperial City and took his first deep breath. He confessed that his Basic accent had been self-taught, born from a desperation to put the lower levels and everything they represented behind him, to gain recognition for his skills on their own merit. It still slipped when he was stressed.

He told Zeb about how his mother had been a dishwasher at a bakery two hundred levels up, and how she always picked him up at school before taking him to her second job at the neighborhood repair shop. There, under her careful instruction, he had learned to fix up old droids and speeder bikes. He spoke about how his mother sacrificed everything to make sure he had enough to eat and always encouraged him to work hard to earn his place in society. Shakily, he talked about her early death and how he had sworn to honor her memory by making a name for himself on the surface.

Zeb asked about his siblings or friends, and Kallus shrugged. With no siblings, friends had been few and far between—when he was younger, it was his flat in the wrong part of town; and when he got older, it was his family from the wrong part of the planet. Not to mention his lack of a network—everyone on the surface had endless connections. It had only been his perfect marks and his Coruscanti residence that had even gotten him an audience with Royal Imperial’s board.

The only beings that might have been his friends were Jovan, whom he’d eventually had to apprehend, and the men in the first unit, whom he’d led to their death. Hardly an inspiring list, but it didn’t warrant Zeb’s sympathetic frown. Anyone in the Empire who couldn’t rely on cronyism yet wanted to ascend the Imperial ranks had to view their colleagues as opponents and be ready to sabotage them at any moment. What made Kallus a good ISB agent had also left him isolated.

He supposed he had one friend now, he reflected as their conversation concluded and Zeb disappeared from his cabin. Whether it was Zeb or his long years of being alone, he knew he was already getting too attached—and greedy. He wanted to talk to Zeb every night, felt irritated when Zeb was pulled away from their conversations, couldn’t keep him off his mind during missions.

Sighing, he shook his head, eager to clear it. Zeb had benevolently offered him friendship—a gift he already didn’t deserve. To want anything else was beyond foolish.

Just as he sat back in his chair and began gulping down his mug of lukewarm caf in preparation of facing the paperwork on his desk, the _Lawbringer’_ s emergency klaxon sounded. A moment later, he heard the unmistakable pound of stormtroopers thudding past his door.

Back to duty—both Agent Kallus and Fulcrum had jobs to do.

  


* * *

  


The next time they spoke, Kallus asked about Lasan again. Like the last instance, Zeb prickled, turning away from him and not speaking for the rest of the time. But the next time they both had time to talk, nearly a fortnight later, he acquiesced.

“Guess it’s hard to talk about because nobody’s asked me in so long,” Zeb explained haltingly, his eyes downcast.

“You don’t have to,” Kallus said quickly. “I understand if it’s too difficult. But if you feel comfortable telling me—I’d like to learn about it. And maybe it’ll help you. Bottling it up can’t be healthy.”

Zeb nodded, meeting his gaze with raised brow ridges. “You’re one to talk.”

Kallus huffed. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. But telling you about my dull life did help a bit.”

“It wasn’t dull,” Zeb protested. At Kallus’s unyieldng stare, he sighed. “All right, fine. What do you want to know?”

“Anything,” Kallus said. “Tell me about the native flora, if that’s all you’re comfortable with sharing.”

As Zeb began to talk about his homeworld, Kallus put everything else aside—his duty as an Imperial agent, his responsibilities as a rebel counteragent, his still unceasing nightmares about the Partisan Lasat who had killed his comrades, his guilt about participating in the Fall of Lasan—and just listened.

Zeb spoke of the tall, billowing trees of Lasan and the diverse forms of wildlife the forests housed. He described the bands of orange and magenta that striped the sky, and the old sun that watched over the lush rolling hills. He talked about the crisp air in the early mornings and the fresh smell of dew, and the raucous festivals that would herald the changes in the seasons. Closing his eyes, Kallus could imagine the call of the avian creatures and the sight of snow-capped mountains in the distance.

The city Zeb had grown up in was known for its exports of speeder parts and medical devices, as well as its traditional fisheries. He had been raised in a comfortable home with his brothers and his many sisters. One of his siblings had been a medic and a couple had been soldiers like Zeb. Another had been a chef and another an astronomist, and the younger pair of twins had worked in the dedlanite mines on the nearby asteroids before starting a lumber company. Zeb had been the youngest, doted upon by his family and his many niblings, and he had endless stories to share about them.

Every time Zeb reminisced, Kallus felt a deep yearning tug at his gut that he knew wasn’t his own. He leaned into it, wanting to understand.

More than anything, he _needed_ to hear everything Zeb said. The extermination of the Lasat meant not just the extinction of the species but also the loss of their thousands of years of history. Years ago, Kallus had helped extinguish it. If he could help Zeb carry the burden now, then the memories would live on in the two of them.

After everything he had done, it was the very least he could do.

  


* * *

  


Over weeks, stories tumbled out of Zeb's mouth and Kallus clung to every word. What had begun as a gesture turned into a genuine fascination with everything and everyone Zeb described. Where his own childhood had been so isolated, Zeb’s had been warm and full of love and affection and beings he could count on. In his memory, Lasan was perfect.

All Kallus remembered was the thick smoke, the whirring sound the ion disruptors made, the Lasat cries, and the eerie lack of corpses each time his stormtroopers gained more territory. He pushed those memories away, desperate not to subject Zeb to them through the bond.

“Hold on,” Kallus interjected. “I thought Kelsa was seeing that Duros professor from the pub.”

“Right, but they turned out to be a creep—just happened to be a very good-looking one.” Zeb shook his head. “Took us _way_ too long to convince her of that.”

Kallus chuckled. “She sounds too headstrong to listen to anyone _._ ”

“You got that right,” Zeb said. He scrubbed his face. “Huh. _Sounds._ ”

“Pardon?”

“You said _sounds._ Kelsa died on the second day of the Siege.”

A chill rushed down Kallus’s spine, and he didn’t know which of them it had come from. He bowed his head, the levity of their conversation gone.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I would have liked to meet her.” _Meet her?_ _You might have murdered her yourself,_ the voice in his head sneered.

“Yeah,” Zeb said, his voice thick. After a moment, he said in a lighter tone, his smile strained: “Maybe _she_ would have been able to convince you to join us.”

“Maybe,” Kallus said. Zeb had been making similar recruitment jokes for weeks, but Kallus never knew how to respond. He wanted to tell Zeb about spying on the Empire for the rebels, but it wasn’t safe. He trusted Zeb, but he didn’t trust the other Spectres, not to mention the larger Rebellion.

At his response, he felt a wave of wistfulness through the connection that he knew wasn’t his own. Since the bond had formed, he had been feeling stray emotions that weren’t his—phantom sensations in response to things he couldn’t see. At the beginning, they had only appeared every once in a while, but now they were getting more frequent. He felt the negative emotions the strongest—spikes of fear and shame in the middle of the night, pulses of annoyance and anger during midday, and surges of regret in between.

Sometimes, though, a wave of serenity coursed through Kallus. In those moments, he always felt glad—relieved that Zeb was finding some form of contentment, and that the Empire hadn’t robbed him of every bit of peace.

There was another emotion that sometimes came through the bond—loneliness. It was the hardest emotion to ignore. Anger burned hot, but the longing was like icy fingers creeping across his skin. Kallus was often tugged into their shared visions after that feeling bubbled to the surface.

The visions had become more frequent overall, but Kallus and Zeb had become better at controlling them. Kallus was grateful, because he needed all the concentration he could get to collect and send his Fulcrum transmissions and avoid detection by the other officers. Now he knew when the visions were starting and how to beat them back, picturing a physical door in his mind that he could shut.

At night, though, after his long shifts, he let the door in his mind open, for Zeb to visit if he was available and wanted to see him. Sometimes Kallus fell asleep while he was—well, he didn’t like to think of it as waiting—and other times Zeb opened his side of the connection, too, and they spoke until they were too tired to stay awake a second longer. A warmth always bubbled in Kallus’s belly during those instances, like a tiny fire he kept with him through his grueling days.

He found himself watching Zeb closely as he spoke, admiring the strong shape of him, from his thick, muscled arms to his nimble feet, to the warmth and appreciation in his eyes when Kallus asked him follow-up questions about his stories.

Kallus didn’t know which features were considered attractive in Lasat culture, but he liked Zeb’s broad shoulders and the twitch of his large, reactive ears, not to mention the thick purple stripes that Kallus had become mildly obsessed with, wondering if they continued in the same pattern beneath his jumpsuit.

Blushing at the thought, he shook his head. He was meant to be updating ISB records of the personnel aboard the _Lawbringer,_ not daydreaming about his...acquaintance. Friend.

It was irrelevant. Just a little crush, like he’d had as a teenager. Harmless, as long as nobody ever found out. Absolutely harmless.

  


* * *

  


Kallus was just going about his day, about to leave his quarters after returning there to retrieve a datapad he’d left behind, when the connection sparked to life and he was assaulted by a vision of Zeb...washing himself?

He was in a tiny, lowly lit cubicle that must have been aboard the rebel vessel, and there was water—real Sanistream water, not just sonic—sliding obscenely down his body, highlighting every inch of his muscles. His face was turned up to the shower head, eyes closed and ears perked. Steam drifted around him, softening his features.

Mouth watering, Kallus stared at the thick muscles of Zeb’s neck and the liquid dripping down the planes of his broad chest, slipping down his hips and...

Kallus inhaled sharply. Zeb had a hand around himself and was bracing his arm against the cubicle wall.

At the sound, Zeb whipped around, and Kallus got an eyeful of his front. His very nice, generously sized front.

“Sorry!” he squeaked, covering his face and praying that Zeb couldn’t feel his interest through the bond.

“Didn’t see you there,” Zeb said gruffly, rubbing his neck. He didn’t seem all that concerned about his modesty, though when Kallus peeked through his fingers, he spotted his ears twitching in consternation. “Don’t you have communal ’freshers on your Star Destroyer?”

Kallus’s face was burning. “Of course,” he croaked, lowering his hands. He stared at a point past Zeb’s shoulder rather than looking him in the eye or allowing his gaze to wander into dangerous territory.

Futilely, he tried to tug himself out of the connection as he and Zeb had done many times now. But it was hopeless when he didn’t _really_ want to leave. How could he, when Zeb had looked so relaxed in the throes of pleasure?

“Then,” Zeb said, grinning crookedly, “never seen a naked Lasat before?”

There was that light, playful tone again—he had been using it more and more when they weren’t speaking of serious matters, and it always made Kallus’s brain screech to a stop.

“Definitely not,” he replied, willing his heart to stop racing.

“Wanna take a closer look?”

Kallus startled, jerking his gaze over to meet Zeb’s in shock.

Zeb’s voice had been bold and sultry, but he looked embarrassed now, his ears flattening against his head. “Karabast. Forget it—that post-battle high must just be getting to me.”

Kallus took a deep breath. “And if I don’t want to forget it?”

Zeb narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

Kallus crossed his arms to hide his hesitance, hoping his gamble would be worth it. “Perhaps you could pretend I’m not here.”

Zeb tugged at his wet beard and was silent for a long moment. Regret sinking in, Kallus nearly told him to just go ahead and forget it after all.

But then Zeb nodded, eyes wide. “All right, if you’re sure.”

Biting his lip, Kallus let his gaze linger up and down Zeb’s unbelievably fit body. “I’m sure.”

Hesitantly, Zeb turned to his side so Kallus could see his profile, all two-plus meters of appealing curves and muscles. He ducked under the stream of water and took himself in hand again, inhaling sharply at his own touch. He must have already been close before Kallus showed up—that, or Lasat had much shorter refractory periods than Humans did.

As Zeb thrust into his own hand, breathing hard, Kallus admired the movements of his arm, the slope of his back, the curl of his enormous hand around his enormous shaft. Kallus’s collar felt tight, and the cuirass suddenly felt overly restrictive. He wanted to touch Zeb, to feel his fur against his own hands, to elicit the soft sounds emerging from him now.

“You like what you see?” Zeb murmured, turning to Kallus with lidded eyes. Unconsciously, he found himself memorizing what Zeb was doing with his hands and which sounds went with which motions. He _needed_ to touch Zeb.

Kallus let out a shaky breath. He couldn’t deny it; he had asked for this, and Zeb could probably see—and smell—the evidence of what it was doing to him. “Very much so.”

Zeb smiled at him, surprisingly tender given the lewd situation, and it sent tingles down Kallus’s spine.

“I like having you here,” Zeb said, holding his gaze as he played with the tip. Kallus saw now that a bright, mauve slick leaked from it, slightly less viscous than Human ejaculate. He wondered what it would taste like and how it might ease the way during other activities.

His mouth watered at the thought of being pinned by that cock and letting Zeb have his way with him; of Zeb taking hours to open him up so he could take all of him; of riding Zeb until they both lost all sense of their surroundings.

“I like being here,” was all he managed.

Looking to be close to climax, Zeb braced his head on his free arm, which was pressed against the steel walls. He panted hard as his hand moved lightning fast across the length of his cock. His ears twitched, and pleasure spilt across the bond, making Kallus shudder.

He pressed a hand to his uniform trousers, mouth parting. He felt hot all over, as if he was working too close to the reactor core of a Star Destroyer. His fingers twitched in longing.

“Don’t come yet,” he ordered in the best commanding voice he could muster under the challenging circumstances.

Zeb froze, his back stiffening. His hand paused and squeezed the base of his cock, so tightly and firmly that Kallus immediately began considering what it would feel like to have such a large, strong hand wrapped around him, toeing the borders between protective and restrictive, pleasurable and painful.

Eagerly, he watched as Zeb’s hips bucked, thrusting in a phantom movement. Water sluiced down the planes of his back, following a path Kallus wished he could imitate with his mouth.

The way he obeyed so readily made Kallus giddy and unbelievably turned on. He unbuckled his tunic and rucked it up, and shucked off his gloves before ungracefully shoving a hand down his trousers, withdrawing his cock.

Zeb gasped at the sight of it, and the intense way he looked at Kallus then made him shiver.

“You don’t come until I do,” Kallus bit out, gazing at Zeb’s naked form appreciatively. He imagined touching him, imagined how his wet fur would feel beneath his fingers, imagined how Zeb might rub his cock against Kallus’s hip. He spat in his hand to help with the friction and felt a frisson of curiosity through the bond. 

Teasing himself, he alternated grazing light fingers along his length and tightening his fist, imagining it was Zeb’s tight body he was feeling. He jumped when he felt an external urgency course through him. When he looked up, Zeb was leering at him.

“I’m enjoying the show, but would you mind hurrying it up?”

Kallus glared at him. “Oh, I’m sorry, should I have booked some time in your busy itinerary?”

“Nope, I just really want to see you come before the connection cuts out,” Zeb said with a filthy grin. “Wish I could touch you—I’d taste you if I could, make you feel so good.”

Kallus blushed, cursing at how he was already embarrassingly close. “I wish I could, too,” he panted. “I’d see how far down I could take you.”

Zeb whimpered, and Kallus barely suppressed an echoing moan at the sound.

He probably should have been ashamed that he’d only lasted a few minutes, but he didn’t care. The sight of Zeb predatorily gazing at him while touching himself was too overwhelming. Kallus came in his hand, spurting all over his fingers, and barely managed to get it together in time to command: “Now, Zeb.”

Zeb came with a groan he muffled in his arm, burying his face in the crook of his elbow as that pinkish slick gushed from his cock. Kallus couldn’t take his eyes off him. He wished he could be there, feeling Zeb’s come on his fingers and maybe daring to take a lick.

When Zeb peeked over at him, Kallus shook himself from his idiotic daze and tucked himself back in his pants. Now he was definitely embarrassed.

But on Zeb’s face was an expression Kallus had never seen before—a shy, bewildered smile that made Kallus’s stomach flip.

Kallus nearly smiled back, but he caught himself just in time.

What was he doing? This wasn’t what he wanted. For the first time in his life, he wanted more than just dispassionate casual sex that scratched an itch. There was nothing casual about how he felt about Zeb.

Since Bahryn and the formation of the bond, he had been yearning for a partnership between trusted equals, something both tender and fierce. A promise of devotion, of mutual reliance. Something that, in a previous life, had never tempted him.

But even though they were now technically on the same side of the war and had maybe even become friends, Kallus knew Zeb would never see him as a romantic option. He was too deeply tied to Zeb’s tragic past and had foolishly chosen to flaunt that the first time they crossed paths.

On Bahryn, Zeb had saved Kallus’s life, but, on Lasan, Kallus had helped destroy Zeb’s. That meant this fledgling feeling, this kernel of hope, wasn’t going to lead to anything but rejection and, if he was being honest with himself, heartbreak.

He had already overexposed himself in allowing this tryst to happen. Now that he'd had a glimpse of what it would be like to be with Zeb, at least in this way, it would be impossible to forget. Especially with him in his head all the time. All he could do was be vigilant and ensure it never happened again.

As long as he got some distance, the feelings would fade. Eventually.

“Kallus,” Zeb said, probably sensing his hesitation and maybe even hearing his thoughts. “I—”

This time, when Kallus tried to cut off the connection, it worked. The vision faded, and he was once again alone in his room, the barren durasteel walls boxing him in. Despite his sticky trousers, the urge to collapse in his bed and never get up again was immense.

Resolutely, he changed his clothes, washed his hands, and forced himself to look at his reflection in the small cabin mirror. His cheeks were still flushed and his pupils dilated, a painful reminder of what had transpired. What could never happen again.

He buried his face in his hands.

  



	4. Chapter 4

  


  


  


Zeb was distracted by the memory of their encounter for a week afterward. He had been shocked to find Kallus interested in him and had thoroughly enjoyed putting on a show for him.

Truth was, to his shame, he had been fantasizing about Kallus for some time now. There was just something about him, during those moments they had been getting to know each other—something special. Zeb still refused to let himself put down his guard, but he had begun looking forward to their conversations as a reprieve from the rigors of life as a rebel. He thought Kallus might, too—he was always emanating stress, anxiety, and frustration during his workday. But when he and Zeb spoke in the quiet of ship’s night, he only transmitted curiosity and satisfaction through the bond.

Zeb couldn’t help but hope their burgeoning friendship would push Kallus to reconsider his place in the Empire. Now that he saw him as a something of a friend, he _really_ didn’t like the idea of him working for the Empire. But he understood now why Kallus clung to his rank and commission—he had spent his entire life working for it, in a misguided effort to prove himself worthy. It didn’t excuse anything he’d done, but it gave Zeb hope that he might be able to convince Kallus to dedicate himself to a more rewarding cause.

Since the shower incident, though, Kallus had been sparse. At first, Zeb had assumed he was busy on assignment, which was particularly believable given the rebels’ recent successes. But when three Standard weeks passed without contact, Zeb began to worry.

Had it been too much? Maybe he had come onto Kallus too intensely, and Kallus was upset about being put in that position. At the time, he had seemed fully invested and even enthusiastic—Zeb shivered as he remembered what Kallus had looked like, face pink and tongue between his lips as he touched himself.

But maybe he had regretted it afterward. Zeb had hoped to talk about it, but the connection had abbreviated their afterglow.

And now it was as if part of him had been silenced and contained. The bond ached like a phantom limb. And it seemed to be punishing him, too, manifesting in ceaseless migraines that kept distracting him on missions. The more time passed without contact, the worse they got.

Occasionally, though, flashes of worry would come across the bond, and once Zeb even received a spike of fear. He hoped nothing was wrong—strange though, to fight the Empire every day and then hope that one Imperial’s quest was going well. But he had gotten used to seeing Kallus regularly and had come to see him as an unconventional kind of friend.

And, he admitted to himself in the dark of ship’s night, lying in his bunk and hearing Ezra toss and turn in his sleep, that his complicated feelings about his new friend had evolved into a longing for more than just nighttime conversations. He wanted to see Kallus in person, to sling an arm around him and embrace him when he seemed troubled, and, if Kallus wanted it, to touch him like he’d touched himself that day.

And, afterward, he would hold him close and bury his face in his hair, bringing them even closer than the bond was pushing for them to be. His arms ached with physical longing throughout his days, an irritating reminder of his wistful thinking.

The longer he went without seeing Kallus and the worse the bond felt, the more he questioned the legitimacy of his feelings. Kallus had been his enemy—still should have been. He had hunted Zeb and his family, and though they had seen less of him lately, he was still on the other side of the war. Despite sharing with Zeb his disgust with the Empire, he had been stubbornly resistant to Zeb’s efforts to recruit him.

Yet Zeb still wanted him.

Part of him couldn’t help but wonder: Were those his own desires? Or was his heart under the bond’s thrall?

  


* * *

  


Back when they lost Ahsoka and Kanan lost his sight, Zeb had stopped pestering him about figuring out how to destroy the bond. For months, Kanan hadn’t even wanted to train Ezra, choosing instead to stay on the base, mourning. So there was no way he wanted to deal with Zeb’s nonsense.

Now that Kanan was back in action, a little more cautious and a little more in touch with the Force, Zeb thought he might be able to help him reach Kallus and make sure he was okay—and maybe settle his worries about his emotions being manipulated. He felt reluctant to bring it up though—he and Kallus had come a long way, and even if it was starting to feel like a burden, the thought of dissolving the bond was strangely distressing. If they didn’t have it, would they go back to being enemies on the opposite sides of a war?

After Hera, Chopper, and the kids left on a mission to Chiron, Zeb joined Kanan for breakfast and tentatively brought it up.

“I’m sorry I’ve been absent,” Kanan said, pouring caf into Zeb’s thermajug. “A lot has happened since the last time we talked about this.”

“I know,” Zeb said as gently as he could. He rubbed his neck, careful not to knock over their beverages. “Don’t worry about it. Kallus and I are making it work.”

Kanan raised his brows, and the expression was so familiar for a second Zeb forgot he couldn’t see him. “You and Kallus, huh? I’m guessing there’s a story there.”

Zeb’s ears flattened in embarrassment. “Well, since we kept seeing each other, we started talking. Continuing our conversations from Bahryn. It’s been...good.”

“Good,” Kanan repeated, spooning their hard-won bristlemelon puree onto his space waffle. The way he frowned while eating the rare treat belied his disbelief. “So you and Agent Kallus are...friends now?”

“Guess so,” Zeb said, looking down at his plate. He had already eaten more than half of his share; he and Ezra hadn’t been given any ration bars for the stakeout they’d returned from the night before, and he’d been hungry enough to eat a bantha when he rolled out of bed that morning. He wished he hadn’t eaten so quickly now, anxiety churning his overfull stomach.

“I’m not sure if it’s real or just a side effect of the bond though,” he admitted. “Do you think that Jedi magic you were talking about could—theoretically—plant feelings? Maybe even attraction?”

“The Force, not Jedi ‘magic’,” Kanan corrected. Then, “ _Attraction,_ Zeb?”

Zeb cleared his throat, avoiding eye contact. His head was starting to hurt again. “Theoretically.”

“Riiight,” Kanan said with a smile. "Well, _theoretically,_ it’s possible. But I’d guess that, without external manipulation, it can only plant urges, not entire sets of emotions.”

When Zeb only nodded thoughtfully, Kanan leaned in closer, lowering his voice. “Are you feeling something for our old friend?”

“You could say that,” Zeb replied, fidgeting with his spork. “But is it really me? You told me that the bond would try to push us together.”

“It’d take a very strong Force wielder to manipulate your emotions like that, and I can’t see why anyone would benefit from bringing you and Kallus _together._ Sorry to say it, but I think those feelings might be real.”

“Was afraid you’d say that,” Zeb said. “I tried ignoring them at first, but I found out he might feel the same. ’Least, I thought so. But I haven’t seen him in a few weeks now, and I’m going out of my mind. Can’t stop thinking he might be in danger or that he’s decided he hates me again.”

“A few weeks? How frequently were you talking before this?”

Zeb ducked his head. “Uh...frequently. Almost daily.”

“Wow,” Kanan said. “Not sure who has worse taste in friends—you or Ezra.”

Remembering how Maul had taken the _Ghost_ hostage and used their lives as a bargaining chip not so long ago, Zeb rolled his eyes. “Definitely Ezra.”

Kanan chuckled. “You think there’s a chance Kallus might become an asset to us? Or is he more likely to take advantage of you like Maul did Ezra?”

“The kid was naive, and he was hurting,” Zeb said. “I know where Kallus’s allegiances lie. But I got him thinking about the Empire, and I think I can get through to him. I just need time.”

“So you _don’t_ want to get rid of the bond now.”

“Nah,” Zeb said, and gulped down his caf. “I mean, I could do without the headaches. But I’ve gotten used to the bond. And Kallus.”

Kanan shook his head. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Zeb. You might’ve gained a mutual understanding, but he’s an Imperial, and he’s from the Core Worlds—

"Aren't _you_ from Coruscant?"

"As far as I know, but that's not the point. If he hurts you—”

“I appreciate it, mate," Zeb interrupted. "But If he hurts me, I’ll beat him up myself.”

Smiling, Kanan said, “Okay, but I’ll be there to back you up.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Zeb gave him a friendly punch in the shoulder. “So...you were bonded to your Jedi Master, right?”

“I was.”

“Then...if you needed to reach someone on the other side of a Force bond—someone who might be avoiding you—how would you go about it?”

  


* * *

  


Per Kanan’s instructions, Zeb went to the place where he felt the most peaceful—his spot away from Chopper Base. After putting on the Quenk jazz recording Sabine had lent him, he sat cross-legged on one of the abandoned shipping containers. Zeb usually avoided the area during this time of day, when Atollon’s sun was high in the sky and his body released temperature-regulating coolant nonstop. But he was going out of his mind and needed to reach Kallus as soon as possible.

Eyes closed, he let his tense muscles relax and his mind drift. It was always a difficult state for him to retain: At any given time, he was thinking about the family he’d lost, the new family members he was trying to protect, and the next mission he had been assigned. And these past few weeks, he had been endlessly worried that he'd lost this unexpected friendship before he’d even had the chance to tell Kallus what he meant to him.

But this was important. More important than his hurt feelings or his guilt. He needed to make sure Kallus was okay.

Normally he only ever pictured the entrance to his mind when he wished to speak with Kallus, often once his cockpit shift had ended and his head was on his pillow. But instead of waiting for Kallus to open his end of the connection, Zeb now carefully envisioned a door that led out of his mind and into Kallus’s. Instead of knocking, he pried the locking panel open and sliced it as if he were breaking into an Imperial building.

It took what felt like ages, but at last the door slid open. Cheering internally, Zeb entered.

There was a strange shuddering moment that made his head even dizzier than it already felt, and then suddenly he was peering through a crack in the door of what he knew from experience as...a supply closet on a Star Destroyer?

_Zeb, what—?_ He flinched at the familiar but unexpected voice reverberating in his brain.

Zeb looked down at his hands. But they weren’t his hands—they were small and covered in Imperial-issue gauntlets, and holding the blocky controller for an MSE-6 droid as well as a comm that seemed to be quietly broadcasting the conclusion of a meeting.

_Kallus?_

_Get out of here!_ Kallus snapped, just as another door in the corridor, diagonal from the closet, slid open. Zeb could hear a sibilant voice getting closer, and when he peeked through the crack, he saw a non-Human in an Imperial uniform, his blue skin and scarlet eyes emphasized by his white clothes.

In all his years of fighting the Empire, Zeb had only ever heard of Grand Admirals; he'd never had the honor of seeing the rank plaque for himself. For a non-Human to hold such a prestigious rank was beyond unusual. Zeb didn't even recognize their species; their hue was similar to that of a Pantoran, but this being's eye color and facial structure were different.

And flanking the officer were two Death Troopers, their specialized armor polished to a shine, matching their casually held E-11D blaster carbines.

_Who_ is _that?_

Zeb didn’t get an answer, instead feeling a surge of panic from Kallus. It was followed by another strange lurching sensation—and then Zeb was back on Atollon, feeling the sun bearing down and the sandy breeze fluttering his fur. Further off in the desert, Krykna clicked at each other and wove between plated tree corals.

But he had just been under the cold light of a Star Destroyer. How...

_Kallus?_ he tried. But there was no response this time.

Unnerved, he shut his eyes again and summoned the door once more. Instead of going through it, he knocked and waited for a response.

Kallus didn’t answer. After five more tries, Zeb almost gave up.

But then, suddenly, he heard that deep voice: _Zeb, stop it._

_Kallus! Are you okay? I need to know you’re okay._

_I’m fine,_ Kallus said shortly. _Stop fussing. And don’t ever do that again._

_I didn’t mean to,_ Zeb said. He kept getting the feeling that Kallus was trying to shut off the connection. _Are you angry with me?_

Kallus sighed, frustration emanating from his side of the bond. _I’m not angry with you. I’ve been terribly busy. And I need every ounce of concentration right now._

He hadn’t realized how patient Kallus had been with him until he was suddenly the object of his irritation again. Zeb tried not to let the dismissal bother him. At least Kallus was speaking to him. At least he was alive.

Though his instinct was to leave him alone, he couldn’t help but think that it had taken so much effort to reach him. He had to know that he would see him again soon.

_I just need a moment with you. Now or later. Please._

_Stubborn Lasat,_ Kallus complained, and for a second it felt like any other night, Zeb pushing Kallus’s boundaries and Kallus sardonically prodding him back. _Fine. 0100, Standard time._

_Deal,_ he agreed, pushing satisfaction through the bond. _Promise me you’ll be there._

Another sigh. _I promise._

  


* * *

  


So fixated on the prospect of talking to Kallus, Zeb wasn’t much help on base for the rest of the day. He felt alternately excited and apprehensive about confronting Kallus about what had happened the last time they had spoken. What if he hadn’t read the signals right? After all these years, he still found Humans confusing—stuffy Imperial ones in particular.

Lost in thought, he startled when Ezra flicked a pebble at him. It bounced off his jumpsuit harmlessly, but he growled at the kid anyway.

“What’s gotten into you today?” Ezra grumbled. He was using his Force powers to lift a stack of relief supply crates onto one of their nearly antique hovercarts. “I just called you like three times.”

Zeb’s ears flickered. “Sorry, I didn’t sleep well last night,” he lied. “What can I do?”

They spent the rest of the afternoon on inventory duty, Ezra with his Jedi powers and Zeb with his strength. When AP-5 wasn’t bossing them around, Ezra chattered and teased him, and Zeb mostly just let him.

He knew it was foolish to waste his time worrying about an Imperial, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the strain in Kallus’s voice earlier—even when it was just in his head—and the tender look he had given Zeb after they’d both come, the last time they’d seen each other.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Ezra said abruptly, absent his joking tone. “I know it’s not just sleep—you've been off for weeks.”

Zeb stacked three awkwardly shaped crates and hoisted them onto the hovercart. He thought about Ezra’s unlikely alliances with Hondo, Maul, and all sorts of other unsavory characters. He supposed Kanan was right—the kid wasn’t exactly scrupulous about the kinds of friends he made.

“I’m talking to someone tonight—an old contact,” he said carefully. “I care about him, but I’m not sure we’re on the same side. I don’t want to alienate him, but I’m hoping to recruit him: I want to fight by his side, on our side.”

Ezra nodded sagely, and Zeb was grateful that he didn’t ask for the identity of his contact.

“I know what that’s like,” he said. “What I’ve figured out is that most beings have a limit...”

Though it was bizarre hearing a kid decades his junior give him advice, Zeb did listen. Until he had met Kanan, he'd believed that the Jedi were all high-and-mighty phonies. And even Kanan still exuded that sometimes, but Ezra was more like the children in Lasan’s market streets: smart and scrappy, with a daredevil streak. He knew what it was like to believe survival was the only thing that mattered, and that disregarding what happened to other people was necessary to make it to the next day.

Zeb knew now that Kallus’s chilidhood hadn’t been so different. But whereas Ezra had become part of the _Ghost_ family after years of being alone, Kallus had lost the only person close to him and then had had to build layers upon layers of walls to prevail in the upper echelons of Coruscanti society. And from what Kallus had told him, after his mother's death there had never again been anyone for whom he’d wanted to put those walls down.

Though the idea made his fur ruffle, Zeb knew deep down that he wanted to be that person for Kallus—to be not just a trusted confidante but also someone he could rely on. Someone who valued him for who he was rather than who he could help them become. Someone who would take care of him, and let themselves be taken care of in return.

He just hoped he hadn’t botched his chance.

  


* * *

  


After sharing a dinner of portion bread and instant pukka broth with the Spectres, Zeb took a long Sanistream shower at 0000, using his best soap.

He stared at the foggy mirror for a long time, feeling uncharacteristically insecure about his appearance. He felt strangely alien all of a sudden—so far away from the Humans’ thin, tiny faces and their bodies’ isolated patches of fur.

Zeb had been considered quite a catch on Lasan, but was it even possible for an Imperial from the Core to find a non-Human attractive? Kallus had seemed into him when he’d interrupted his shower, but...the radio silence since then wasn’t exactly encouraging.

He sighed, feeling another bond-induced migraine creeping in. There was no point in moping around like a kit. This was who he was, and if Kallus didn’t like it—didn't like _him—_ that way, then Zeb would get over it. By now, he had become an expert at having to get over things.

Once he was ready, he sat on his bunk with his thermajug full of caf. He leaned forward to avoid bumping into the too-short top bunk and exacerbating his headache. Ignoring its throbbing, he closed his eyes and sank into the now familiar meditative state.

Zeb stayed there, fidgeting, for a long time. 0100 came and went, with no sign of Kallus. He couldn’t help but feel he had been stood up. It was silly. Kallus was a high-ranking Imperial agent—of course he had better things to do than sit around chatting with a rebel.

Just as he was about to get up and see if Sabine wanted to spar to help burn out the caf in his system, he felt the sliding and locking sensation that indicated the bond was activating.

And there was Kallus, sitting with his knees up to his chest. His hair fell into his face, the gel from the morning sweated off, and there were immense bags under his bloodshot eyes. His hands were curved around a plain black mug of caf, and they were shaking.

Yet his mouth curved into a relieved smile at the sight of Zeb.

Zeb’s heart skipped. He was wrong. This Human would not be easy to get over. 

He got down onto the floor as well, his elbows pressing to his crossed legs. The cabin lights were dim, but he could see Kallus perfectly. And he looked awful.

“Kallus,” he breathed. “You’re alive. But you look like a karking mess.”

“Thank you for that,” Kallus retorted, rolling his eyes. “Now what’s this about?”

“About? I just wanted to see you,” Zeb said, frowning. “It’s been weeks. Are you all right?”

“Relatively speaking.”

“Okay, let me rephrase: Why do you look like a karking mess?”

Kallus sighed, staring down at his mug. “I’ve been busy.”

Zeb sighed. This was what he got for falling for an intelligence agent. He hated when people didn’t just say what they meant; where he was from, subterfuge was the way of cowards.

Frustrated, he blurted out: “Have you been avoiding me?”

“Of course not,” Kallus said easily. Zeb squinted at him. Kallus was trained in the art of deception, but Zeb could always trust his gut.

“Then why haven’t you been around?” he demanded. “We haven’t spoken in weeks. I’ve been so worried!”

Kallus frowned at him, perplexed. “You have?”

“‘Course I have,” Zeb said. “We share an intimate moment, then you disappear and refuse to speak to me.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” he continued, the words he had practiced tumbling untidily from his mouth. “Last time, I followed my libido instead of basic decency. I didn’t mean to pressure you into that.”

Shaking his head, Kallus said, “No, _I_ pressured _you_ into it. I disregarded your discomfort because I wanted something so badly. It was entirely inappropriate, and you have my apologies.”

He’d wanted it? That seemed too good to be true. But Zeb didn’t think he could have a purely sexual relationship with Kallus. Not now, anyway—he was already too invested.

“I wasn't uncomfortable," he said quietly. "I wanted it, too."

Eyes widening, Kallus leaned forward. “You did?”

“Yeah,” Zeb admitted, his fur ruffling and ears flattening. He hesitated. “But I gotta be honest: I also wanted it to mean something. And if you don’t feel that way, I’d hoped that you’d at least reject me to my face.”

Kallus stared at him for a long time, seeming conflicted. Zeb tried to be patient, but it was nearly impossible when he was so anxious. In the corridor, he could hear Hera and Kanan bantering. Farther away, Chopper and AP-5 were arguing loudly and affectionately. Envy clenched in his chest; he wanted someone like that too—an equal he could tease and tussle with and would do anything for. 

The thoughts were old, familiar ones, but something had changed: that he wanted Kallus to be that person.

Kallus, who now sat up straighter and opened his mouth to speak. Zeb focused his hearing back on the conversation and tried not to let his hope spill across the bond.

Surprisingly softly, Kallus said, “I do feel that way. But Zeb—I can’t. You can’t.”

Zeb stared at him. He felt numb with shock, yet an undercurrent of elation coursed through him, making his extremities tingle. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Looking shifty, Kallus cleared his throat. “I thought it was entirely obvious.”

Shaking his head, Zeb said, “Not to me.” He supposed he hadn’t said anything about his feelings either, but he had tried to, at least. “Then what do you mean ‘we can’t’?”

Kallus slumped back, a nervous hand running through his hair and freeing it from his usual severe hairstyle. “Well,” he said, staring at his lap, “for a start, have you forgotten that I helped destroy your planet?”

“I haven’t,” Zeb said. “But you’ve changed since then. You’re not that person anymore.”

“You don’t know that,” Kallus said, pain and exhaustion creasing his face. “I’ve done terrible things for a terrible regime.”

Zeb frowned. “Would you do it again, now? If the Empire ordered you to raze Gentes, would you obey?”

“No!” Kallus exclaimed. “I’d do my best to stop them.”

“Then you’ve changed."

“I don’t know if that’s true, but I want believe it,” Kallus said. He tugged at his gloves. “You make me want to believe it.”

Something fluttered in Zeb's stomach. “I wish I could see you. The real you, in person.”

He felt his yearning echoed on Kallus’s end of the bond. “Zeb, we can’t.”

“I know. Then, if we can’t have that—how about the next best thing?” Zeb rubbed his neck, trying to ignore the apprehension that simmered beneath his skin.

He continued, “I know we’re on opposite sides of the war right now, but maybe one day we won’t be. Harboring feelings for an Imp might be the most foolish thing I’ve ever done, but I don’t want anyone else.” He exhaled slowly, heart jumping to his throat. It'd been long since the last time he had said the words, and it’d never been in Basic: “So until we meet again—would you do me the honor of allowing me to court you, Kallus?”

Kallus froze in place, looking like a tooka in a speeder lane. He was emanating panic through the bond, as loud as an Imperial klaxon. He took a deep breath, and his lips parted on the exhale.

Zeb had started to worry he’d really screwed things up when Kallus finally spoke:

“Alexsandr,” he said softly. “You can call me Alexsandr.”

Zeb couldn’t help but smile at the tender offering. “Is that a yes, Alexsandr?”

Kallus bit his lip. Putting his hands on his thighs, he visibly steeled himself. “Before I answer that, there’s something I must tell you.”

Uh-oh. Zeb scrutinized him, trying to decrypt his guarded expression. It reminded him of back when the bond had first begun making them appear to each other, and Kallus had been so nervous and suspicious.

“What is it?”

“There’s a rebel counteragent in the Imperial ranks of the Lothal sector who has been supplying your cell with intel—correct?”

“Maybe,” Zeb said cautiously. Now he was anxious for an entirely different and more dangerous reason. Had Kallus killed their informant? It would make sense—all part of the job description, and of Kallus’s department specifically. He would probably get another promotion for it.

What had Zeb been thinking, asking to court an Imperial, anyway? It was against so many of his instincts. But he had always been all too willing to follow his heart.

“Well,” Kallus said, and then he took another deep breath. “That’s me.” Zeb’s heart stopped. “I’m your Fulcrum.”

Zeb’s mouth dropped open. “What?" His mind raced, trying to reconcile this new, entirely unexpected information. "Are you serious?”

“I'm serious.” _By the light of Lothal’s moons,_ he sent through the bond, just as he'd done earlier. _It’s me, Zeb._

"So when I tried to reach you earlier..."

Kallus nodded. "You caught me spying for the rebels. I rewired a repair droid to capture intel during top-secret meetings."

"Using what your mother taught you," Zeb said softly. "When did you start?"

Kallus nodded and said, "Not long after my return from the ice moon."

Zeb grinned helplessly, euphoria claiming him. His instincts had been right after all. All this time, he’d been trying to persuade Kallus to join the rebels without pushing him away, and Kallus had gone and done it all on his own.

“So I managed to recruit you after all."

Kallus’s mouth curved upward, still rather cautious. “You truly did.” He stared down at his now empty mug, then peeked up at him shyly. “Would you... Would you still like to...court me?”

“Are you kidding? This makes things way easier,” Zeb said. “I was thinking I'd have to bribe you with my bedroom skills to get you to join our side.”

Kallus chuckled, his face turning that delightful pink again. It was a good look on him. “Er, any chance those might be up for offer regardless?”

“Yeah,” Zeb said, his mouth watering at the thought. “I’m willing to negotiate another deal—Alexsandr.”

Warmly, Kallus smiled at him and reached out with his hand. Zeb received a pleasant, tender sensation through the bond. He extended his hand and sent back a caress, a thrill of joy.

They talked until the sun on Atollon rose again, and, for the first time in weeks, the bond stopped inducing migraines or fatigue or that terrible sense of doom. It just sparked between them, growing stronger and stronger.

Flourishing.

  


  


  



	5. Chapter 5

  


Kallus had never been so stressed, but he had never been so happy, either.

It was taking everything in him to collect and send intel to the rebels, as well as sabotage the Empire where he could—all while avoiding detection, and while performing his actual job. Thwarting Thrawn was the most problematic: In addition to being uncannily perceptive, he rarely seemed to need to eat or sleep, and Kallus constantly felt he was being watched. He had never met any other Chiss—and there was next to nothing in the Imperial databases about them—but he hoped Thrawn was an outlier among his people.

Pryce, in contrast, was a much simpler mark. She, too, was shrewd but also arrogant and overly ambitious. One didn’t become a governor of their home sector at the mere age of forty without self-serving brazenness and an outrageous sense of pride, which made her significantly easier for an ISB agent to manipulate.

Kallus was keeping an eye on whatever was going on between them, too. Thrawn’s expression barely ever changed, yet sometimes a sharp glint appeared in his eyes when Pryce was turned away. Kallus hoped to discover the root of that tension in case there was something he could hold against either of them, should he ever get too close to discovering the truth.

In the meantime, though, Kallus was thoroughly enjoying being courted by Zeb. After their dalliance, he hadn't known what to do—returning to just being friends and disregarding his feelings seemed impossible, but he hadn't been able to bear the thought of Zeb being disgusted when he found out how he felt—or worse, pitying him. But things had turned out significantly better than expected.

Kallus rubbed his left wrist, where a ring of twine was obscured by his gauntlet.

A week ago, Zeb had shown him something new he was wearing: a fiberweave band plaited around his wrist. He told Kallus it was part of the courting tradition in his province on Lasan, and that it denoted that he was pursuing someone and was currently uninterested in being courted by anyone else.

Traditionally, Kallus would have woven the bracelet to demonstrate that he was interested, but Zeb bashfully admitted to braiding it himself. It was a satisfying sight—a visual indication that Zeb wanted him—more than anyone else, even.

Kallus had desired his own; he wouldn’t be able to let anyone in the Empire see it, of course, but he wanted it for himself. A talisman, a reminder of what he had chosen. Something to look forward to. 

When he had voiced his interest, Zeb had smiled at him, something unbearably soft in his eyes, and the look had made Kallus’s stomach flip.

He had carefully memorized that expression so he could keep it with him throughout the difficult moments, during which he doubted himself and the dangerous decisions he had made.

Conversely, there were interludes he treasured: Zeb appearing to him in the middle of a debrief and trying to make him laugh; complaining to Zeb during the lunch break he had coerced Kallus to start taking, while Zeb patrolled the perimeter of his base; falling asleep to the comforting sound of Zeb singing a Lasan lullaby.

Every miraculous moment with him was more than Kallus deserved. Deep down, he feared that they were too good to be true, and that there would be a terrible price to pay for such rapture.

After all, he knew it was only a matter of time until Thrawn discovered him and had him terminated. Until then, he was determined to enjoy it as much as he could. As much as was safe.

  


* * *

  


When their free nights lined up, they spent their time getting to know each other even better.

“Darling,” Zeb moaned, playing with his leaking tip. His legs were splayed wide for Kallus to see, the stripes of his fur like arrows pointing to the sheath from which he had emerged. “What you do to me...”

Kallus covered his mouth to suppress his whimper. He was so hard he was trembling. Zeb was gorgeous, and he seemed to know exactly how to entice Kallus and keep him on the edge.

“Speak for yourself,” he gasped. “Garazeb, can I please—”

“Not until I say so,” Zeb said, bent on paying him back for that first time. “Stay on your knees just like that. And put your hands behind your back. I just want to admire you.”

They had gotten much better at manipulating the connection now, and Zeb had spent the day sending Kallus glimpses of what he wanted to do to him. It had led to a very unfortunate erection during his weekly meeting with Konstantine, and he had chided Zeb the moment he saw him later that night. Zeb had only laughed, and then his voice had gone all sultry. Kallus was helpless to resist it.

“Zeb, please,” he begged. “Allow me to—”

“First, tell me what you want me to do to you,” Zeb growled in that way he now knew made Kallus melt.

With his arousal crescendoing to its zenith, Kallus obeyed. 

Afterward, he collapsed onto his bed, sticky and exhausted. The linens clung to his bare skin. Pleasure still reverberated through the connection, and the overstimulation made him shiver. More than ever, he was glad for the private cabins ISB agents were assigned on capital ships.

He tilted his head to see Zeb, who was similarly winded but pleased. A sleepy, satisfied smile lit up his face, and it made a tender kind of yearning curl in Kallus’s belly. 

“I wish I could see you,” he said, “and be there with you.”

“Me too,” Zeb murmured, sending a longing pulse down the bond. “Wish I could hold you."

Sighing, Kallus adjusted his flimsy pillow and tucked himself under the thin covers. “Will you sing to me again?”

“'Course,” Zeb said, and he began singing the beautiful Lasan lullaby that always chased away Kallus’s nightmares. His voice was deep and resonant, and the _resh_ syllables that Kallus always had trouble repeating sounded like soft purrs.

As he was drifting off, he heard Zeb murmur, “One day, I’ll sing this to you while you’re in my arms.”

Dazedly, Kallus pushed his agreement across the bond and threw his leg over his blanket, imagining Zeb was there with him.

He slept.

  


* * *

  


“So you said there are three courting rites,” Kallus asked during his new Zeb-ordained lunch break, which he was still only able to take about once every four days. “What's the second one?”

Zeb’s reply surprised him: “Actually, you’re kinda already doing it.”

“What do you mean?”

“The second rite involves more of an action than an object,” Zeb explained. “Back home, typically the partners would each lend themselves to the other's clan for a month. They’d help with the harvest, or with repairing the ancestral family home, or contributing to the family business. Stuff like that.” He smiled at Kallus. “Or, you know—double-crossing the sleemos who took everything from their partner and risking their own life to help their partner's new family.”

Kallus’s cheeks were pink. “It’s truly the least I can do.” He smiled back at Zeb, just a timid flash. “Well, since I have no family left, do I just get to order you around for a Standard month?”

Zeb chuckled. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you.”

“Well, I certainly don’t expect you to help the Empire.”

“Yeah, not sure you’d want to count Pryce or Konstantine as family anyway.”

Kallus wrinkled his nose at both the thought and the texture of the synthesized protein he was chugging.

“Definitely not. Well, how about this? Perhaps, for your task, you could tell your family about me—when the time feels right, of course. And if I ever make it out, perhaps they won't kick me out without giving me a chance.”

“They wouldn’t,” Zeb said. “Not when you’ve got me vouching for you.”

“Oh, really? You must be a big name in the rebellion then.”

“Yup. All the Jedi take orders from _me,”_ Zeb joked.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re hilarious?” Kallus said, entirely deadpan. While disposing of the packaging for his ration bar and protein pack, he glanced at the stack of datapads in his inbox. “I should probably get going.”

“Aw, so soon?”

Kallus nodded regretfully. “I have back-to-back meetings all afternoon and into the evening, I’m afraid. And, this morning, Thrawn scheduled a meeting for 1000 to question a new informant.”

Zeb made a face. “That’s just cruel. You gonna be okay?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Alexsandr,” Zeb chided, “you’ll tell me if you’re in trouble, won’t you?”

Kallus made a face. “Stop worrying, Garazeb. I was top of my class during ISB training. This is what I was born for.”

It was getting harder and harder to close the connection on Zeb, but Kallus managed to do it. He really did have a lot of work to do—both for the Empire and for the Rebellion.

There wasn’t any time to waste.

  


* * *

  


“I have something to show you,” Zeb said a month later.

He held his hands behind his back, and his ears were flat in the way Kallus had come to recognize as embarrassment or anxiety.

“Oh _really?”_ Kallus replied, cocking his brow. Zeb laughed at his lecherous grin.

“Not like that,” he said. “Well, maybe like that, later—but I’m talking about something else.”

“What is it?” Kallus's curiosity was piqued.

Zeb extended his arm and revealed a long strip of brightly colored cloth loosely coiled in one of his palms. Most of it was plain, but Zeb had tugged one end of the fabric free, and starting from the edge was the beginning of a embroidered pattern. Partway complete was a complex garland of golden flowers, interspersed with the familiar Phoenix Squadron starbird and two of what resembled repair tools in a crossed design.

“I know you probably can’t tell yet, but that’s a hydrospanner, and that’s an arc wrench,” Zeb said. “You said your mother was a talented mechanic, so I thought...”

His mother? Kallus stared at him, dumbfounded. “Zeb, what is this?”

Zeb rubbed the back of his neck. “You’ve seen the wraps on my bo-rifle,” he said. Kallus nodded, still confused. “Every Guardsman had at least a few sets of wraps. When I fled Lasan, I only had my battle wraps with me, but in the old days my favorite was a ceremonial one that my grandmother commissioned for me. It was like a tapestry that told the story of my clan. I thought, since your bo-rifle is barren, I'd make you one like it. Wasn’t sure what to put on it at first—I’m not much of an artist—but I hope I did okay. I’ve been getting better as I go, promise.”

Kallus’s mind was racing so fast that he barely noticed he was trembling.

“Um, Alexsandr? Was I... Do you hate it?”

Shaking his head vehemently, Kallus was suddenly aware of his vision blurring.

“Definitely not,” he choked out. “Zeb—you would do that for _me?_ I'm not worthy.”

Zeb didn’t seem to know what to do at the sight of his tears, but he sent a tide of comfort through the bond. “Hey, hey, I didn’t mean to make you cry. My art isn’t that bad, is it?” he joked. He tucked it behind his back again.

Kallus shook his head again. “It’s _beautiful._ I don’t deserve it.”

“It’s a courting gift. The final rite. You don’t get to decide whether or not you deserve it. The point is that _I’ve_ chosen you, and I want you to be mine. If you’ll have me.”

Kallus's heart was full. “Will you allow me to return the gesture, then?”

Zeb smiled, seeming a bit wobbly himself. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

“Good,” Kallus said. “May I—may I see it again?”

Shyly, Zeb showed it to him again, tracing the petals of one of the flowers. “We called these tajakova. In my province, they stood for forgiveness and redemption. And new beginnings. They were a huge part of my father’s garden.” He unfurled the fabric further to show Kallus the Phoenix Squadron symbol he had spotted before. “Sabine helped me design the pattern, so you won’t get a more authentic starbird.”

“And,” Kallus said hoarsely, "the tools—you listened to what I told you. About my—” Kallus pressed his fist against his mouth.

“Every word,” Zeb said. “I think she would be proud of you, Alexsandr.”

Kallus shook his head. “I don’t know about that. But I know she would’ve liked to meet you." He sent a tide of gratitude and appreciation down the bond, and Zeb responded with warm affection. Kallus laughed a little as he felt the warm, ticklish sensation. “How am I supposed to outdo such a wonderful gift?”

“Eh, don’t worry about it,” Zeb said. “I’d settle for a nice bottle of Thikkiian brandy.”

Kallus chuckled. “Noted.” He wiped his eyes on his sleeve. “Well, that’s enough of making me cry. What else did you have to show me?”

  


* * *

  


It took Kallus a long time to come up with the right gift for Zeb. It couldn't be too gaudily expensive or too impersonal. He wanted to make something, like Zeb had, but he had little artistic talent. And the few presents he had ever purchased had been for Humans; this one had to suit a Lasat. 

Doing too much research on Imperial datapads would arouse suspicion, so first he purchased a used datapad from the city market, verifying that it was free of Imperial trackers before he transferred his credits. Using it in the Imperial Complex or on the _Lawbringer_ would arouse suspicion, so he kept it in the communications tower where he sent his Fulcrum transmissions.

Eventually, he came across a listing on the HoloNet regarding the old inventory of a now defunct video store, in which he might find what he was looking for. He went to collect his bounty outside Capital City, dressed in a civilian disguise. The seller's asking price was high, but because the Empire paid for his room and board, Kallus’s salary had been virtually untouched for most of his life. Besides, he was willing to pay any price to give Zeb what he deserved.

On his way back to the Complex, he stopped by the tower with both Zeb’s gift and his planned intel drop. After contacting the Spectres—and secretly hoping Zeb was there to hear his message—he slipped the datacard he had obtained into the untraceable datapad.

Though the machine was old, the drive read the file successfully and the holoprojector whirred into action. The video that appeared had the markings of an old file, the image crisp in some areas and choppy in others. But the audio was almost completely intact, and that was what Kallus was really after.

Playing at a high volume was the sound of jovial, percussion-heavy music accompanied by the murmur of an excited audience. The being operating the holorecorder seemed to struggle to keep it steady, but the shakiness added an authentic charm to the recording. On stage, a quintet of Lasat worked the crowd flawlessly.

The band played two full songs, and then the recording cut off during the beginning of the third piece, before looping back again. Kallus watched it twice more before he paused it.

Panic had set in, and he sat back in the seat to try to calm his racing heart. Seeing that many Lasat—and all in one place—was immensely sobering. This footage had been taken at what was clearly a festival. Zeb had told him about all the holidays his province commemorated, and Kallus had been amazed, only having ever celebrated Empire Day—or Week, on Coruscant's surface—and his and his mother’s birthdays. The thought that any of these carefree merrymakers might have been killed by Kallus himself made his stomach lurch.

But he knew Zeb would love the video. He loved music and had told Kallus that, aside from his bo-rifle, his most precious belongings were his music box and his tapes. And Zeb's happiness was far more important than Kallus’s guilt and discomfort.

This one recording wouldn’t be enough, though. He would need to find more, which would be a dangerous enterprise. He couldn't risk them being stolen, so he'd have to bring them back to his cabin or office and figure out how to hide them from the cleaning droids and any routine insepctions. At least being ISB usually gave him some leeway to insist on privacy. Just the thought of videos like these being discovered and leading him to be interrogated by Thrawn gave Kallus hives.

But Zeb had saved him, had given him a lifeline when he could have left Kallus to die in the cold—in more ways than one. Evading Thrawn, getting Phoenix Cell intel, participating in Zeb’s courting rites—nothing Kallus was doing could ever measure up to that.

He would honor the being who had saved him. And perhaps, with his support, he might have the will to keep avoiding execution and to make it through the war—and have Zeb to hold at the end of it.

  


  



	6. Chapter 6

  


  


Zeb was exhausted. After they’d returned from Wynkahthu, he’d been sent on three missions in a row, serving as Hera’s only gunner, on the midships turret, while Rex was with _Phoenix Nest_ and Sabine was tasked with working on her shield prototype for the base.

Now he stood cross-armed with Sabine and Hera at Atollon’s holotable, listening to Kanan’s debrief from Lothal. Sabine and Hera leaned in closer to examine the plans they’d been sent for the souped-up TIE fighter.

“How'd you get past Thrawn with these plans?” Hera wondered. “Someone's losing more than their job for that.”

“I guess we can thank Agent Kallus,” Kanan replied. Zeb’s heart leapt at the name. “He knew Fulcrum's secret code phrase.”

_By the light of Lothal’s moons,_ Zeb remembered.

“Wait wait wait, Kallus is Fulcrum?” Sabine demanded, mystified. “How does that even make sense?

Zeb glanced around the base surreptitiously. He wanted to tell his family—he’d promised Kallus that he would—but it wasn’t safe out here. For now, he’d have to act as if he had no idea.

“Karabast,” he said, rubbing his neck and feigning ignorance. “I must've recruited him. You know, accidentally.”

Later, once he finished checking the _Ghost_ for trackers and Kanan, Ezra, and Chopper had returned from Lothal, Zeb invited the Spectres to a family dinner. It was a rare occasion nowadays, but he insisted.

He went all out for the meal, making a legume soup topped with Kukuia nuts and rehydrated galcots. It wasn’t quite the stew he remembered from his childhood, but he had used a portion of his treasured stash of spices and dried hot peppers to bring it closer to the real thing.

He was smearing a sliver of root paste on each slice of portion bread when Kanan walked in the galley and said, “Smells good. What’re you making?”

“A little taste of Lasan,” Zeb replied. “You’ll see.”

He placed the plate of bread on the dining table and began scooping portions of the soup into bowls, on top of which he added a dollop of blue crema. There wasn’t much, but he hoped the other Spectres would enjoy eating something a little more flavorful for a change.

“This looks great, Zeb,” Hera said as they sat down to eat. Chopper hovered beside the table, grumbling.

Sabine sniffed at it, curious, before adding a nutrient tablet to the communal pitcher of reactor-synthesized water on the table.

“Yeah, thanks, Zeb.”

Always impatient when it came to eating, Ezra dug in while Kanan was pouring their drinks. Zeb snorted as he began choking and yelling:

“Aah! Spicy! Spicy!” He fanned his mouth, wide-eyed. “Help!”

Snorting, Zeb rolled his eyes. He scooped two more dollops of blue crema into Ezra’s soup, though.

“There. That should cool it down for those of you with weak tastebuds.”

“Hey!” Ezra complained. But after eating another spoonful, he grabbed the container from Zeb and added another scoop of crema.

Sabine shook her head and took a sip of the soup. She broke into a smile.

“Tastes like home,” she sighed happily. 

Zeb smiled at her, pleased. “Glad to hear it.”

“Whew, the kid’s right: It's got a kick,” Kanan said, his face turning red the more he ate. “But it’s delicious.”

Hera nodded in agreement. Zeb knew she would eat any kind of food at all without a single complaint, but it still felt good to know she approved.

Between spoonfuls, Ezra wondered, “So what’s happening that’s made you have to bribe us with good food?”

“Me?” Zeb said, blinking innocently at her. “Bribe you? No way.”

“You never cook for us.”

“I cook all the time.”

“Yeah, but usually you just toast a stack of space waffles and call it a day,” Kanan said.

“Don’t discourage him, guys!” Sabine said. “I'd like to eat like this more often.” To Zeb, she said, “This is _so_ good.”

Zeb grinned. “Thanks. It’s an old family recipe—as close as I could get with what we had, anyway.”

He was grateful when Hera steered the conversation from his suspicious behavior to the next mission Sato had for Zeb and Ezra. He still wasn’t ready to tell them everything.

But when they were scraping their bowls, the stockpot empty and their bellies as full as they were going to get, he knew he had to gather his courage and follow through on what he’d promised Kallus.

“So...Ezra is actually right,” he said abruptly.

Ezra’s head flew up. “Wait, wait, let me get my holorecorder and have you say that again.”

Zeb rolled his eyes and ignored him. “Do you remember when I got stuck on that Geonosian moon for a night?”

  


* * *

  


“So you’re saying that the friend you told me about—the one you wanted to recruit—that was Agent Kallus?” Ezra asked, bewildered. “The Agent Kallus who’s been trying to kill us for years?”

“Yup. One and the same.”

“And you’re _dating_ him?” Hera said, flabbergasted. She turned to Kanan, who hadn’t reacted to Zeb’s story. “Did you know about this?”

“I knew about the bond,” Kanan said calmly. “I didn’t know about their relationship.”

“Really, Zeb? A _Human_? From the _Empire_?”

Zeb winced. Since they first met, he and Hera had often commiserated about the evils the Emipre had committed on their homeworlds. Usually _she_ was the one trying to convince him to go easy on Humans and their foibles. But she just didn’t know Kallus—the real Kallus.

“Hera, he’s not just the ISB agent who pursued us,” he said. “ _Alexsandr_ is witty and generous and supportive, and he remembers everything I say. He thought he was helping the Empire create a more peaceful world.”

At Hera’s narrowed eyes, he held up a hand. “I didn’t say he wasn’t a fool for believing it.”

Sabine nodded. “I thought that once, too, Hera. And look how far I’ve come.”

“So why’d he decide to change?” Ezra asked.

“He looked into why the Empire destroys worlds and all the other things he was never told—and he decided to defect because he was horrified by what he found,” Zeb said. “I think he just needed a push. I only told him to find the answers to the questions he wasn’t asking, but he reached out to Sato on his own. And Ahsoka vetted him and accepted him into the Fulcrum ranks.”

“Whoa,” Sabine said. “I guess, in that case, I’m willing to give him a chance.”

“I trust Ahsoka,” Kanan said. “If she says he’s trustworthy, I believe she’s right.”

“How do we know it’s not a trick?” Hera said.

“We don’t,” Ezra said. “But Fulcrum hasn’t led us wrong yet, right?”

Chopper blurted out an enthusiastic agreement. Guess that was one thing Zeb and the rust bucket agreed on.

Hera didn’t say anything else, her arms crossed and her face scrunched up, but she stayed behind to help Zeb with the dishes.

Quietly, she said, “You told me a while back that you haven’t dated anyone since you left Lasan. And that you didn’t expect to, ever again. So this must be serious, huh?”

“Yeah,” Zeb admitted. “I want it to be, at least. Since we started talking, he’s...he’s become really important to me. Even if he doesn't accept my hand in the end, I still want to be his friend.”

“You love him,” she said, seeing through him immediately. “And you truly believe someone like him might love you back?”

The idea made Zeb’s stomach flip. “I don’t know about him, but I know how I feel. I’m courting him. Properly.” He showed her the braided band on his left wrist. “I want him to join us, when the time’s right. To be a part of the family.”

Hera sighed, her lekku twitching. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Zeb.”

“I do,” he said. “Trust me. Give him a chance.”

“I’ll try," she said, clenching her fists. “Not for him though—for you. And if he hurts you—”

“I already told Kanan—I'll beat him up myself. But you can have the next swing; how about that?”

Hera’s face curled into a self-satisfied smile. “Deal.”

  


* * *

  


Zeb was training a new security team recruit when he felt it—a spike of stark terror reverberating through the bond. Immediately, he froze in the middle of drilling Xarta, a Vratix who had lost her family in the Ghorman massacre, on the base clearance codes.

He and Kallus had been getting better at passing their thoughts back and forth, but it was difficult to concentrate amid their combined panic. 

“Um, Captain Orrelios? Is something wrong?”

Zeb ignored her. _Alexsandr?_ He thought desperately. _Are you okay?_

There was no response.

Zeb took off running straightaway, yelling to his trainee, “Sorry, I gotta—”

At a record rate, he dashed over to the crates marking his quiet spot, collapsing in his chair.

It was difficult to clear his mind when he was so worried, but he followed the meditation technique Kanan had taught him, clearing his mind until he could see that familiar door. After some time, the bond connected. Zeb couldn’t see Kallus, but he could hear him.

_Alexsandr?_

_Zeb,_ Kallus replied, sounding exasperated. _I need a moment._ A flicker of irritation shot through the bond. Zeb acquiesced and backed off, lingering at a distance. At least Kallus was responding. At least he was alive, and hopefully uninjured.

He waited, trying his best not to broadcast his anxiety. After a while, Kallus spoke:

_Thrawn was planning an attack on Generis Station to try to draw out the rebel leader—in retaliation for the failed coup to unseat Fest’s Imperial puppet governor. I…I couldn’t issue the order. It reminded me of…of Kelsa and Raz and_ you. _He saw me hesitate—just for a moment—before Pryce jumped in. But Thrawn doesn’t miss anything. I think—I thought—he had unmasked me._

Zeb’s heart was in his throat. _Alexsandr... I’m sorry. If you’re in danger because of me—_

_No. The point is that you opened my eyes to the realities of the Empire’s fear tactics. If that’s what gives me away, then, well... It’d be worth it._

He sent a wave of assurance through the bond, and Zeb returned it, closing his eyes.

_I’m glad. But I’d rather you stay alive. Are you going to be able to deal with Thrawn?_

_Of course_ , Kallus said, though Zeb could sense his stress through the bond. _I’m a professional. I have to go now, though, to cover my tracks. I apologize for worrying you._

Zeb shook his head even though he knew Kallus couldn’t feel it. _It’s okay, darling. I’d rather know if you’re in trouble. Take care of yourself, all right?_

_You as well, Garazeb._

When Zeb opened his eyes again, he could feel his body still coming down from the adrenaline rush. He resisted the urge to reach out to Kallus again, just to make sure he was really okay.

What he was doing was just too dangerous. Thinking back, it had now been the better part of a year since Kallus said he’d begun spying. And now that Thrawn had learned of the mole, it had only gotten riskier.

Kallus’s intel was superior to any other they got, and it had saved so many lives, but he was playing a risky game. Zeb tried to be optimistic as a rule, but even he didn’t think Kallus would be able to survive for much longer.

He knew Kallus felt he needed to pay penance for his transgressions, but he could do that on Atollon, without risking discovery.

He could do it at Zeb’s side.

After all, that was where he belonged.

  


* * *

  


That instance was only the first of many close calls. Each time, Kallus reassured Zeb he was okay, and each time, Zeb became exponentially worried.

And then Sato informed them that he had reason to believe Thrawn might have intercepted Fulcrum’s last transmission.

Zeb broached the subject with Hera after a successful mission to Rudrig to retrieve trio of abandoned X-wings for their newly recruited pilots. Extraction missions had grown too risky now that the Empire had bounties out for every one of them, but surely Hera would understand why they needed to help Kallus immediately.

“Zeb, are you sure? Right now, Kallus is only giving us information—if we extract him, we’ll risk him learning of the location of our base, of our hyperspace lanes, everything.”

“He’s been feeding us intel for nearly a Standard year now—how else does he need to prove himself?”

At Hera’s frown, he continued, impassioned. “Doesn’t he deserve to be among us? I felt him yesterday—he thought Thrawn had caught him, and that he was going to die. Are we going to make him spy for us until he’s executed? Is that what the Rebellion is?”

“Of course not,” Hera said, but she didn’t sound convinced.

Zeb felt his temper flare. “Hera, I’ve never asked the rebels for anything other than helping my people when we’ve been able to spare the resources. Alexsandr is one of my people now. If you won’t lend me the resources, I’ll go retrieve him myself.”

Hera gave him a hard, skeptical look. “Zeb, you wouldn’t.”

“Try me,” he snapped. “I won’t leave my mate to die in the Empire. You wouldn’t leave Kanan—you didn’t, when he was captured.”

“Oh, you mean when Kanan was captured _by Kallus?_ ”

Zeb closed his eyes, frustrated. He couldn’t blame Hera for her grudge, but she had to understand that Kallus had changed. Countless pilots under her wing had been saved by his intel in the past year.

“You said you’d trust me. Please,” he begged. “I can’t lose anyone else, Hera. I need him to be safe.”

If he could just get Hera to approve his mission, then nobody else would protest. Though he still didn’t know if he believed in the Ashla, he prayed to it that she would understand.

“Fine,” she said at last. “But I’m ordering you to step back and let Kanan run the mission.”

“But—”

“You’re too compromised,” she said. “I can’t have you risking yourself or anyone on our team for an Imperial—even a former one.”

When Zeb opened his mouth to protest, Hera held a hand up to stop him. “You can be ready to welcome him on the _Ghost._ Take it or leave it.”

Zeb sighed. “Fine. It’s a deal.”

Hera laid a hand on his shoulder, dropping her captain voice. “He’s going to be okay, Zeb.”

Patting her hand affectionately, Zeb said, “I hope so. Thank you, Hera.”

  


* * *

  


True to his word, Zeb got his welcome reception ready: He cleaned his and Ezra’s room and even made Ezra’s bed, ignoring his whining. He took a luxurious Sanistream shower and trimmed his beard, staring at himself in the foggy refresher mirror for a long time after.

It was hard to feel confident in your appearance when you sometimes forgot what your people had looked like, when you were so different from everyone else around you.

But he guessed he was presentable enough—enough for Kallus not to change his mind, he hoped.

Ezra knocked on the refresher door. “Time to stop primping yourself, Zeb. We’re arriving soon, and you’re needed on the nose turret—just in case.”

“Coming,” Zeb called, and turned off his shaving blade.

“Looking good, Zeb,” Rex said as he entered the cockpit.

He and Kanan were dressed in stormtrooper armor, holding their helmets to their sides, and Chopper was in his Imperial colors. Ezra’s disguise was more subtle—he was holding one of the stormtrooper cadet helmets he had collected, which Sabine had painted in bright colors.

The plan was that he, Chopper, and AP-5 would infiltrate the _Lawbringer_ and get to Kallus while Rex and Kanan served as the shadow team, waiting for Chopper’s signal. Hera had gotten them approval for the mission by giving the ground team another objective: to eliminate any traces of Atollon from the Imperial databanks.

“Thanks,” Zeb said, still feeling uneasy about leaving the fate of his mate in the hands of other beings. “You all ready? I’m counting on you.”

“We got this, Captain Orrelios,” Ezra said, saluting him cheekily. “Anyway, what’s the worst that could happen?”

Chopper warbled in agreement.

  


* * *

  


The worst was the waiting. Zeb paced the length of the cockpit over and over, never straying far from the comm.

“Zeb,” Hera warned for the umpteenth time.

“Sorry,” Zeb grumbled again. “I’m just—excited.”

The moment Kanan’s voice came over the comm, Zeb leapt to the cockpit door and dashed out of the corridor, clambering down the ladder with barely a thought. The _Ghost_ shuddered as the _Phantom II_ locked onto it.

Zeb stood at the airlock, impatience and anxiety dueling within him. He braced himself against the wall as the ships’ doors opened with a whoosh.

Rex walked out, followed by Kanan, and then Ezra, whose face was filled with solemn regret and sympathy. Chopper and AP-5 followed, bickering as always.

No one else followed them out. Zeb’s heart sank.

“I’m sorry, Zeb,” Kanan said. “The mission failed. We had him, and then—”

“He gave himself up!” Ezra interrupted. “Said he could make more of a difference there. He’s planning to frame his colleague.” He shook his head. “What a moof-milker! Now Thrawn knows too much and he’s going to be easy prey.”

Rex glanced at Zeb, who was barely comprehending Ezra’s words. “Not helping, Ezra,” he scolded.

“He... _chose_ to stay behind?” Zeb’s voice sounded unlike himself, hoarse and slow.

Kanan laid a hand on Zeb’s shoulder. “He didn’t want us to lose our Fulcrum. I could sense him carrying a lot of guilt—and his desire to repent.”

“He could’ve done that _here,_ ” Zeb thundered. “And you all just _let_ him? This mission’s main objective was to extract him. We’re not going to have another chance. _He’s_ not going to have another chance.”

He stomped off, fury boiling within him. 

He couldn’t reach Kallus through the bond. He probably needed to clear his mind to open the connection, but all he could see was red.

They had gone through all that effort to infiltrate a Star Destroyer, and Kallus had just _turned them down?_

Growling, he locked himself in the dorsal gun room. Was Kallus not planning on leaving the Empire? Had he always intended to stay until he was caught?

Or, his mind whispered, was Kallus a triple agent? Had he only played along with Zeb’s advances to gain his trust? Had he never really questioned his loyalties in the first place?

It was too terrible to consider. Instead, Zeb focused on calming himself down enough to initiate the connection.

The moment it initiated, he shouted, _Alexsandr! What in the blazes were you thinking—_

_Zeb, I can explain,_ Kallus said. His tone was infuriatingly calm, and it only made Zeb angrier.

_What happened to being together? I thought you wanted to be here, with me!_

_I do,_ Kallus said, and Zeb received the brief _But this is bigger than us, Zeb. The Rebellion needs me._

_I know that_ , Zeb said. _But are you really staying for the Rebellion? Or are you staying because you don’t think you deserve to leave?_

_What difference does it make?_

_I’m worried about you, not the Rebellion. The Rebellion isn’t the one that we think Thrawn is onto._

_Zeb..._

_You shouldn‘t be there,_ Zeb insisted. _You should be here with us. With me. Karabast, Alexsandr, I can't keep you safe in there._

_I can take care of myself,_ Kallus replied. _I’ve lasted this long, and I put them off my scent for the time being by incriminating someone else. I’ll be fine._

Zeb kicked the bottom of a control panel, growling. He’d wanted Kallus here. It might’ve been their only chance for extraction before he was discovered. And now, because he was a stubborn son of a bantha, he would be left to the mercy of Thrawn and his death troopers.

Zeb didn’t bother hiding his anger from the bond. Let Kallus know how upset he was, and maybe he’d change his mind. Not that they could do anything about it now. But Zeb was feeling petty.

_Yeah. Right,_ he fumed.

_I have to go now,_ Kallus said, sounding impatient. _Talk later?_

Sighing, Zeb slumped down into the gunner seat and buried his face in his hands. This Human was going to be the death of him.

_Uh-huh. Later._

  


* * *

  


Zeb should’ve known the mission was going to go wrong from the start. His luck had been rotten ever since his gamble to get Kallus out had failed.

First, the intelligence they’d gotten from one of Sato’s informants had been wrong. The small infiltration team he’d been tasked with shadowing hadn’t been ready to take on an entire platoon of stormtroopers. He’d lost two soldiers right off the bat.

And then, during the chaotic escape, Zeb had jumped in front of one of the young lieutenants remaining to save him from a hit from an AT-AT.

He had been knocked out immediately.

When he awoke, it was in _Phoenix Nest’_ s medbay. The off-putting scent of antiseptics reminded him of that awful time when Hera had been shot down and ended up here. He supposed the same thing had happened to him, because every part of him was in pain.

When he looked down, he saw that most of his body was wrapped in bacta-soaked bandages. He tried moving an arm and found that it stung too much.

His head throbbed, too. It felt as if someone had been slamming it against a wall for hours. Maybe they had, but he couldn’t check for any lumps on his head.

He lay back in the cot and tried to recall what had happened. There weren’t many things that could hurt him enough to warrant being taken to a medbay.

He remembered the laser cannon—and the terrified kid, an Imperial defector barely older than Ezra, who had frozen in place instead of scattering like everyone else. Zeb had pushed him out of the way and taken the brunt of the hit. He didn’t know if the remainder of his team had made it out, but someone must’ve brought him back here. Doubtless, they had lost too many, though. They’d been under his command, and he’d failed, just like he’d failed the Honor Guard.

While he lay there, guilt sat like a weight on his chest, making it hard to breathe. Closing his eyes, he tried to find his center.

Doing so, he realized the ramming kept feeling he felt was coming from the bond.

So this was what it felt like when he assaulted Kallus’s brain. My bad, he thought. Taking a deep breath, he tried to relax and activate the bond.

_Alexsandr? Whatever you’re doing, stop it._

_Zeb!_ Kallus just about shouted, anxiety radiating from his end. _Finally!_ _Where have you been? Are you hurt? Are you still angry?_

_Whoa whoa whoa, slow down. My head already hurts._

_Are you injured?_ Kallus asked, still radiating tension. _I’ve been so worried._

_I was, but I’m fine now,_ Zeb assured him. _Just took a hit from an AT-DP, no big deal._

_An Imperial walker?_ Kallus exclaimed, horrified.

_Yeah,_ Zeb said. _Not sure how long I’ve been out, though._

_It's been three days since we last spoke,_ Kallus said. _I thought you might still be angry with me._ Zeb sent him a pulse of comfort to soothe him. _Kriff, Zeb. You’re lucky to be alive. Are you receiving adequate medical care?_

_If I say no, are you gonna come pick me up?_ Zeb teased, grinning to himself.

_I might consider it,_ Kallus said, so seriously that Zeb wasn’t sure if he was joking.

_Tempting,_ he said, _but I think I’ll be fine here. I’m covered head to toe in bacta bandages right now._

_I’m sure what you really need is a tank._

_Yeah, well, that’s where the Imps have us beat. I haven’t been in a bacta tank since I was twenty Standard years old._

_Right,_ Kallus said, giving the impression of a sigh. _You rebel types are_ so _hardy._

_Us rebel types,_ Zeb corrected. He smiled at Kallus’s pleased surprise.

_Yes, that’s right,_ he said. _Well, as a fellow foolhardy rebel, I’d like to know if there’s anything I can do to help with your recovery._

_Thanks, Alexsandr. I’ll let you know._

_And…I also wanted to apologize,_ Kallus added. _For before—for not accepting your offer of extraction. I_ do _want to be by your side—_ so _much_ — _but I believe I can do more good here. Perhaps you can think of it like...the second rite isn’t over. I’m still trying to help your family._

_It’s okay,_ Zeb said, sending his assurance through the bond. _I understand why you didn't, and I’m grateful you feel so strongly about our cause. I’m sorry for getting upset. I was just being selfish._

Kallus sent a wave of relief through the bond. _You’re forgiven_ , he said. _I…I’m gratified that you enjoy my company enough to want to be selfish about it._

They spoke for a while, Kallus telling him about how he’d spent the days Zeb had been out. All the while, they passed warm affection back and forth through the bond.

It filled Zeb with a tender joy. At least they had this. Even if he couldn’t be be with Kallus—just for now, he told himself—at least they could talk and see each other and show each other how they felt.

After some time, the door to the medbay slid open. Zeb opened his eyes, on instant alert. But it was just Kanan, who had his mask on and smelled like blaster fire. His face brightened when he saw that Zeb was awake.

_Kanan’s come to visit,_ he told Kallus. _I gotta go. But let’s talk again soon, all right? Really, this time._

_Yes, let’s,_ Kallus said. _Take care, Garazeb._

_You too, darling._

“Hey, Kanan,” Zeb greeted with a wince. Nowadays, cutting off the connection felt like being pushed into an ice-cold pond. Kanan gave him a knowing look and came over to the cot.

“Hey, buddy. How are you feeling?”

"Better now," Zeb said, and smiled to himself.

  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact/disclaimer: I actually worked on a SW book IRL that was the source of my inspiration for some of the dishes/foods referenced in this chapter. Writing about Zeb cooking dinner for his family felt a bit like coming full circle.
> 
> Since Wookiees love super spicy and heavily spiced foods, and Kashyyyk was a close ally of Lasan (and, logically, a trading partner), I extrapolated that Lasat might enjoy them too.
> 
> One more chapter to go! Thanks for sticking with me, and for all your kudos and comments! 💙


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to C for being supportive while I panicked about this fic—and for helping me get my plots from Aurek to Besh.
> 
> And thanks again to Litra for the art and the early beta.
> 
> Readers, here is the finale! I hope you've enjoyed this story; I had a blast writing it.
> 
> **Content warnings:** Mild depiction of torture (no sharp objects involved) in the first and third section

  


> _Of course nothing stops the cold,_
> 
> _black, curved blade  
>  from hooking forward—  
>  of course  
>  loss is the great lesson._
> 
> _But I also say this: that light  
>  is an invitation  
>  to happiness,  
>  and that happiness,_
> 
> _when it’s done right,  
>  is a kind of holiness,  
>  palpable and redemptive._
> 
> —“Poppies,” Mary Oliver

  


  


Kallus had failed.

Thrawn had unmasked him, and now he was cuffed to a holoprojector in the communications tower, his arms hanging in a painful and humiliating position. He couldn't stop pondering how long had it been since Thrawn had figured it out. For all he knew, he could have been fed bad intel for months. 

“Tell us the location of the rebel base,” the slightly shorter death trooper repeated. They had been smacking him with the ends of their weapons, and Kallus knew they were only softening him up.

When he didn’t respond, the trooper punched him in the stomach. Kallus grunted before clenching his mouth shut. Without waiting a beat, the other trooper punched his clavicle, all his strength funneled into the delicate bone. Though it was excruciating, and his body flopped helplessly, but Kallus strove not to make a sound.

Thrawn hovered behind the troopers, examining the posters on the wall with faint interest. “This will be much easier if you give us what we require, Agent.”

“You won’t get it out of me, _Grand Admiral,_ ” Kallus spat.

“Hmm,” Thrawn said, nonchalant. “Troopers, please proceed.”

Kallus didn’t fight back as they continued their attacks, determined to save his energy for his escape—whenever the opportunity came.

Learning to withstand torture was a key part of the ISB curriculum. But there had always been the factor of the unknown—an Imperial agent never truly knew what an enemy combatant would do to get someone to spill their secrets. But Kallus knew Imperial interrogation methods like the back of his hand.

For a while, he entertained and distracted himself by imagining what critique he would offer the troopers if they were his pupils. ISB suited these troopers were not.

"That was foolish," he mocked after one of the troopers hit him in the pelvis. "If you just gave me a fracture, I'll die sooner than if you had struck my hip. Thrawn, I'm surprised at the incompetence of the company you keep." 

“These death troopers were top of their class,” Thrawn said mildly. “They could take you apart, nerve by nerve, without killing you.”

Kallus snorted and ignored the way it hurt his windpipe. “Death troopers use brute force. For interrogation, you need precision.”

Thrawn's placid features rearranged themselves into a frown, and it was somehow more threatening than a bellow would have been from any other admiral. Kallus realized immediately that he had made a miscalculation. “Trooper,” Thrawn said in that calm sibilant voice, “please aim for the agent’s knee next time.”

Kallus knew it was going to hurt before the boot struck, but nothing could have prepared him for the pain of having his old injury exacerbated. He couldn’t help hissing, though he still refused to give them the satisfaction of hearing him scream.

Despite the pain, he found himself shielding his end of the bond and hoping that Zeb couldn’t feel what he was feeling. Kallus initially hadn’t believed him when he’d alluded to what happened to Lasat in Imperial prisons—but he’d always known what happened to traitors to the Empire.

Ironically, many times they had been captured, interrogated, and executed by Agent Kallus himself. He was under no illusions about his fate, whether he gave up the rebels or not. Either way, he was slated for termination, so all he needed to do now was hold out for long enough to make them so irritated or bored that they shot him. Then, the rebel base would be safe, and Kallus would have died meaningfully, even if he had wasted so many years of his life.

He thought of Zeb and how upset he had been when Kallus hadn’t gone with the extraction team. Being with Zeb the past year had been the greatest gift of his lifetime. He had wanted more, but he knew he didn’t deserve it—had never deserved any of what Zeb gave him. And at least this way Kallus could go out doing him and his friends some good.

He focused on that, as the troopers punched him in tandem, one in his left eye and the other his nose. He flinched back instinctively as it began to bleed.

“Is that all you got?”

  


* * *

  


“ _All personnel, code K-one-zero. Evacuate immediately._ ”

Zeb was in the middle of inspecting Dodonna’s crew for trackers when the announcement came through the loudspeakers and the alarm sounded. The pilot of the ship he’d been examining jumped into its cockpit and began preparing for takeoff. Echoing her, Zeb leapt to action, helping the Y-wing pilots load their proton bombs.

“Zeb! Help me with the heavy ordnance!” Rex called.

Zeb obeyed, joining him in loading weapons into the cargo bay of the _Ghost._ Hopefully they’d be able to quickly find a way to escape because one bad hit and the ship would go up in flames, taking them all with it.

At Hera’s signal, he took his position at the nose turret gun and fired up the weapons systems, chatting with Rex to distract from his nerves.

In no time at all, they were exiting the atmosphere, Hera frantic above him but doing her best to lead her squadrons.

“Kanan and Ezra?” he asked over the comm as they sped toward Sato’s fighters. “And Chopper?”

“They have their roles and you have yours,” Hera replied. That didn’t set Zeb’s heart at ease, but then they were in the middle of the firefight and he didn’t have time to think about anything else.

Zeb knew they were lucky to have Dodonna’s team there to help them escape, but there were too many ally ships on the battlefield for the _Ghost_ to protect them all. Despite being excellent shots, he and Rex couldn't move fast enough, and the five Star Destroyers hovering over Atollon meant that the TIE fighters would keep coming.

All around them, freighters and cruisers exploded. They were losing countless people. It was seeming more and more unlikely that they would make it out alive.

He spared a thought for Kallus, who might be onboard one of those Star Destroyers. He hoped he was faring better than the Spectres were.

  


* * *

  


The death troopers dragging Kallus back to the _Chimaera_ seemed to take joy in throwing him around like sack of Jogan fruit. Intentionally or not, they knocked him into every surface and rail as they carried him down the communications tower. With every slam, his bruises stung and his cuts were reopened.

Regular stormtroopers might have laughed and taunted him, but Kallus thought he might prefer that to the death troopers’ silent sadism.

He flinched every time something made an impact. The self-control he had clung on to earlier was gone. He hadn’t talked, but he hadn’t needed to—Thrawn had found the rebel base anyway, tricking him into revealing its location. He had already sent Konstantine to ambush the rebels.

Kallus kept trying to send Zeb a warning, but the connection wouldn’t activate. His stress about it probably wasn’t helping.

If Zeb died because of Kallus’s hubris, he would never forgive himself.

The death troopers tossed him onto the back of one of their speeder bikes and took off. Kallus’s dangling foot ended up against the thrusters, and he screamed when his boot was singed. 

Neither the death troopers nor Thrawn flinched, continuing toward the Lambda shuttle parked not too far away. Kallus fell to the ground when the death trooper parked his speeder.

Seeing it as his chance at escape, Kallus tried to roll away, but with the sole of his foot burned, he couldn’t get leverage. The death trooper brought his own boot down on Kallus’s chest.

“Stay put, traitor,” she growled, and stomped on him as if he were a can of cola.

Kallus cried out in pain as his ribs crack under the pressure. The last thing he saw was Thrawn’s face, pinched in distaste, before he passed out.

  


* * *

  


A sudden wave of excruciating pain splintered Zeb’s focus.

“Zeb...” Hera warned as the _Ghost_ wove around a fleet of TIE fighters, and Zeb’s shots went wide.

“Sorry, Hera,” Zeb said, shaking his head to clear it. “I think something’s wrong with Alexsandr. He's in pain.”

“We received an incomplete Fulcrum message earlier—we guessed that he was warning us about Thrawn’s knowledge of our base. That's why we started evacuating.”

“What?” Zeb said, staring up at her, his duty momentarily forgotten. “Incomplete? He might be in trouble! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know if you noticed, but we’re both a little busy right now!”

She was right, but Zeb was still irritated. Even though he couldn’t meditate mid-battle, he had to give activating the connection a shot.

_Alexsandr?_ he asked as he landed a series of hits on the TIE interceptor squadron tormenting a cruiser full of support staff.

There was no response.

“Can’t we do something for him, Hera?” he asked as Hera swerved and gave him the perfect angle to shoot down two TIE bombers.

“I’m sorry, Zeb,” she said. “We’ve got enough on our plates.”

Zeb peered out the viewport, taking in the chaos. Kallus was somewhere out there, and Zeb couldn’t help him. He could barely even help his team.

That was when he saw escape pods jettisoning from _Phoenix Nest_ , a sense of doom flooding him.

“Hera—I think Sato’s evacuating the carrier.”

And that could only mean one thing: Sato didn’t think they could win.

  


* * *

  


Kallus came to on the bridge of the _Chimaera_ , cuffed and on his knees. He was being held in place, the same two death troopers who had broken his collarbone pressing down on it now. It was not a subtle threat. Closer to the viewport were Thrawn and Pryce, who was listening impatiently as Thrawn explained the rebels’ strategy and what he was going to do to counter it.

“Capital ships, hold your positions. Their cruisers will have to come to us.”

Kallus tried to stay optimistic despite the pellucid strength of Thrawn’s blockade. The rebels had evaded Kallus so many times; he had to believe that these ones would triump over Thrawn as well.

But as the battle progressed, he began to feel more and more powerless. Thrawn was winning. At least half the rebel fleet must be dead. What could they do against the might of five Star Destroyers?

After losing most of their forces, the rebels retreated to Atollon, likely regrouping and divining a new strategy.

“Commence orbital bombardment,” Thrawn ordered.

Dread clenched in Kallus’s chest as he watched all the Star Destroyers adjust their cannons to accommodate for the distance and begin firing on Atollon. He felt an echoing sense of panic from the bond.

Kallus had accepted that he would meet his end once the battle was over—but he couldn’t accept that Zeb would die today.

But if they were both meeting their ends—then there was something he had to say first.

  


* * *

  


Zeb cheered as the local shield Sabine had built surrounded the base and withstood the impact of Thrawn’s orbital bombardment. He'd been worried it would overload, but it had held. At least for now. He didn’t think it would survive another round.

_Zeb! Get to safety!_

_We're working on it,_ Zeb growled automatically, before realizing that was Kallus in his head, emanating fear and distress. _Alexsandr! Are you all right?_

_I’ve been better. Listen, Zeb—you still have a chance of making it, but I was captured by Thrawn._

Zeb froze, heart racing. He’d been right. Kallus was in trouble.

_He deceived me and used me to find your base,_ Kallus explained. _It might be the end for me. So I just wanted to say—_

_Save it for when we get you out,_ Zeb interrupted. _Don’t stop fighting, Alexsandr. Don’t be so quick to give up hope._

_I won’t; I promise. But in case I can’t get out, I want you to know: I love you, Garazeb. And I’m sorry._

Zeb felt pain and regret tangle with delectation in his chest. _Alexsandr—_

But Kallus interrupted him. _I was so looking forward to—_

The connection fizzled out.

_Alexsandr? Alexsandr!_

But there was no answer.

“Karabast,” Zeb snapped. How could Kallus say something like that and then just go? Zeb wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

He was yanked from his fretting by Rex grabbing his arm. “Time to go, Zeb. Hera’s calling us.”

  


* * *

  


Kallus rubbed his wrists where the cuffs had cut off his circulation. Luckily, neither Thrawn nor the death troopers had noticed the courting band beneath his gauntlet.

He hadn’t expected to be able to escape the bridge, especially under Thrawn’s shrewd eye. But even Thrawn's seemingly nonexistent temper had been incited by the rebels and the battle not being as simple as he had expected. The moment he announced that he was going planetside and turning command over to Pryce, Kallus knew his chance had finally come. Pryce would be much easier to incite, and he could overpower her guards, even with his body barely holding itself together.

Now he dashed to the Chimaera’s escape pods, leaving a trail of dispatched stormtroopers behind him. Letting adrenaline fuel him and numb him to his injuries, he clambered into one of the pods. Once he maneuvered himself into the seat and let the fire door shut behind him, he sighed, feeling relief for the first time that day.

As he toggled the switches to release the escape pod, all he could think was, _Zeb._

He knew the Spectres would be fighting tooth and nail to survive. It was as Thrawn had said of Dodonna: They were brave and magnanimous; Kallus knew they would likely be one of the last ships to evacuate. But he hoped they had made it off the surface again by now—or else he would be diving into an entirely hostile battlefield.

He ejected the pod, the tiny vessel dropping from the Star Destroyer. He opened his Fulcrum frequency and sent the SOS distress signal, followed by the escape pod’s coordinates. Around him, TIE fighters fired continuously, blowing up rebel vessels left and right.

His fate was now entirely up to chance—and Hera Syndulla’s flying prowess, as well as her sympathy.

_Zeb,_ he thought, though he doubted he could activate the connection in his poor state. _I didn’t stop fighting. I got out. Come get me._

  


* * *

  


“We’ve got an incoming transmission?”

Zeb gaped at the holoprojector, the familiar symbol making his chest tight.

“It’s Alexsandr! He’s sending coordinates!”

Anxiously, he peered out the viewport. If Kallus had absconded in an escape pod as Zeb would’ve done, he would be weaponless and floating like a sitting mynock in the middle of the battlefield.

“There’s an escape pod on my scope,” Hera said, echoing his thoughts.

She wove through the fray, deftly maneuvering to avoid two fleets of TIE fighters and all the battle debris, as well as the laser cannons from their own side.

Zeb’s heart remained in his throat until the escape pod was safely attached to the _Ghost._

Relief zinged through the bond, both ways. Zeb watched anxiously as Hera flew through the battlefield with her never-ending grace. He wanted desperately to go to Kallus, but he knew Hera needed Zeb to be there with her. And if she didn’t succeed, there wouldn’t be a future for either of them.

The moment they rendezvoused with the _Gauntlet_ for the hyperspace jump, though, Zeb immediately looked to the captain’s seat beseechingly.

“Hera, can I—”

“Yeah, yeah, go get your man.” Zeb was already out of his seat by the time she finished her sentence.

Zeb squeezed her shoulder gratefully and then nearly broke the door mechanism in his hurry to open it.

He dashed through the corridor, narrowly avoiding the injured and the medical droid trying to take care of them all. Scrambling down the ladder, he felt his heart leap in excitement at the idea of finally— _finally!_ —reuniting with Kallus. Kallus, who had changed so much since they’d last spoken to each other face-to-face.

After leaping down from the last rung, he turned around—and there Kallus was, gingerly climbing out of his escape pod.

At the exact same moment, Kallus looked up, eyes wide. Something like electricity jolted through them, hot and live. The bond thrummed with excitement, magnetizing the pull between them.

“Alexsandr,” Zeb said breathlessly, hurrying over and helping him up. He was staring like a fool. Kallus was here. He was really here, so close that Zeb was touching him. The real him, not a facsimile conjured from magic. “You look awful.”

Kallus stared back at him for a moment, and then his mask fell and his shoulders shook with laughter, the sound of it a bit wild. “I’ve had a long day.”

“But you’re here now.”

“I am,” Kallus agreed. One of his eyes was bruised, but his irises glinted with something like joy. It reverberated through the bond and echoed Zeb’s own, filling their connection with a feedback loop of elation.

Disregarding the displaced aides that milled at the railing above them, Zeb cupped Kallus’s jaw delicately. Heart in his throat, he leaned down to kiss him, just a light brush of their mouths. Kallus melted at the touch and tugged him into a loose embrace. He was shaking.

“I didn’t know if I was going to make it,” he murmured.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Zeb said, careful not to aggravate his injuries as he held him. He bumped his face into Kallus’s hair, enjoying his scent. "And that you didn't stop fighting."

“I'm glad, too.”

Kallus buried his face in Zeb’s chest and clung to his jumpsuit. The closeness warmed Zeb from head to toe.

Zeb had imagined their reunion so many times, but no fantasy could live up to the reality of Kallus, solid and tangible in his arms. At last, the bond felt quiet, satisfied with their proximity. He pressed their foreheads together, luxuriating in the feeling of smooth Human skin against his fur.

But Kallus flinched at the touch, a pained sound escaping him.

Zeb pulled away hurriedly, cursing his stupidity. “Sorry—”

“It’s all right—”

“Let’s get you patched up,” Zeb said, deliberating whether he should carry Kallus in his arms or on his back.

“I’m _fine,_ Zeb.”

“Hush,” Zeb said. “You’ve done so much for us. Let me take care of you.”

Kallus’s blushing face was so adorable Zeb couldn’t help but take his hand and brush his mouth to the bruised knuckles.

After Kallus received some medical attention and the medical droid found him a makeshift crutch, Zeb guided Kallus through the ship.

On the way, they ran into Kanan, who was coming from the common room.

Before Zeb could speak, Kallus stood up straighter and said, “Thank you, Kanan. For taking me in.”

Kanan laid a hand on Kallus’s shoulder. Solemnly, he said, “Thank _you,_ for risking everything.”

Then he winked at Zeb, squeezing his shoulder as well when he passed by. When Zeb looked over his shoulder, Kanan was giving him a thumbs-up. Amused, he shook his head and clutched Kallus closer.

In the common room, Hera was speaking to Sabine’s mother, but she caught Zeb’s eye and nodded. Then she did the same with Kallus, who returned the nod and added a grateful bow for good measure.

They had cleared the path to Zeb's room when suddenly it slid open, revealing a battle-worn Ezra. With a grin, Zeb reached out a fist, and Ezra bumped it silently.

“Good job, kid. You saved us all.”

“Too many beings didn't make it,” he said somberly. Glancing at Kallus, he added a little more lightly, “I'm going back to Krownest with Sabine for a while, so you can pay me back by _not_ having sex in our room while I’m gone.”

Zeb’s ears twitched, and he didn’t need to look over to know Kallus’s face was pink. He cuffed Ezra around the neck, making him cheer up enough to laugh and kick playfully at him.

“Zeb!”

Zeb looked over to see Sabine running toward him. He let Ezra go, and she punched him playfully in the chest before he pulled her into a hug.

“Hey, Sabine,” he said. “I missed you.”

“Missed you, too, big guy. You didn’t get hurt down there, did you?”

“Nah, and I have you to thank for that: We were protected by your shield generator.”

“Glad to hear it,” she said warmly.

She pulled back and scrutinized Kallus, who was resting against the corridor wall while they spoke. She glanced at Zeb, eyebrows raised. 

“Kallus,” she said neutrally.

“Mx. Wren,” he replied, face entirely stiff.

She made a face and corrected him: “Sabine. Please. Guess you’re part of the family now, huh?”

Kallus looked to Zeb, who smiled at him. Kallus relaxed slightly and let Zeb return his arm to its previous position, draped over his shoulders to pull him close. He pressed a kiss to Kallus’s temple and delighted in how it made him blush.

“Yeah,” Zeb said. “He is.”

  


* * *

  


“Anyway, here's my room,” Zeb said, letting the door slide shut behind them.

Curiously, Kallus looked around the tiny berth, leaning heavily on the crutch the medical droid had given him. The top bunk’s covers had been thrown over the railing, and there were clothes hanging off the rungs of the ladder. In contrast, the bottom bunk’s linens were neatly made, the corners tucked in.

Those must be Zeb’s, Kallus thought appreciatively—all veterans, no matter what army they served, had had that severe neatness drilled into them.

Around them, the walls were covered in a motley spray of posters, and the small table attached to the wall was buried beneath flimsies, drinking cups, and ration bars. The room smelled nice; Zeb’s heavy, comforting scent blanketed the ship’s stale, recycled air.

“Sorry for the mess—that’s all Ezra,” Zeb said, tossing the abandoned linens and clothes onto the bunk up top. “Here, mine’s the bottom one.”

Zeb helped Kallus sit down, mindful of his injuries. They both had to duck to avoid smashing their heads on the bottom of Ezra’s bed.

“Thank you,” Kallus said, setting his crutch against the bed and turning to Zeb.

“Can I get you anything? Water? We don’t have much food, but we do have endless ration bars.”

“I’m all right for now. You and your crew have done more than enough for me.”

“It’s nothing compared to what you’ve sacrificed for us.”

“Not sacrifice—repentance,” Kallus insisted. “I know there’s no absolution for all the harm I’ve caused, but I hope I can do enough good to counteract at least some of it.”

"You already have," Zeb assured him. Clearing his throat, he clasped Kallus's hands and held them close to his chest. “I heard you earlier—before the connection cut out.”

Kallus bit his lip, then winced at the sting.

“Oh?” he said neutrally. At the time, he’d been half delirious and convinced he was going to die. Now that he had pain tabs in his system and bacta bandages around his more grievous injuries, it seemed horribly embarrassing to have confessed such a thing over their connection.

“Yeah,” Zeb said. “And I love you, too, Alexsandr.”

Blushing, Kallus mumbled, “I did say that, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Zeb replied, smiling sappily. He held Kallus’s ungloved wrist up to the overhead light, admiring the clumsily knotted twine. His eyes were shiny with tears as he showed Kallus his own braided band. Kallus touched it reverently with his free hand, still astonished that Zeb would want to share this intimate tradition with him.

“For a long time, I didn’t think I would ever find anyone to wear my band again. Thank you for changing that—for giving me hope again.”

Kallus was too injured for anything more exciting than a few more kisses, but Zeb promised to make it up to him when they landed at their next destination.

They lay together, Kallus pressed to Zeb’s front and savoring the warm arm around him. Though they were both exhausted, they forced themselves to stay awake, eager to extend their time together.

“What will happen to me?” Kallus asked at one point. “When they find out I’m on the _Ghost,_ I mean.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’d just like to know ahead of time if I’m going to be thrown in rebel prison.”

“You’re not going to be thrown in any prison,” Zeb said. “You don’t need to worry about that. And if anyone even hints at suggesting it, you can be sure I’ll be there to convince them otherwise—by whatever means necessary.”

Kallus was a grown man and probably shouldn’t have found that so attractive, but he couldn’t deny that it was nice to feel protected. Valued. He knew he would do the same for Zeb. He nodded his approval, caressing the fur on Zeb’s forearm.

Zeb pressed a kiss to the side of Kallus’s neck, then to his cheek. “Honestly? You’ll probably get a promotion for getting the word out to Phoenix Cell.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Kallus protested. “I’ll take probation for the time being.”

“We’ll do you better than that. I promise.”

Kallus huffed. “You rebels and your optimism.”

“You’re officially a rebel, now, too—you can't deny it anymore,” Zeb teased. Without seeing his face, Kallus could tell he was grinning. “Better get used to it.”

“I'm doomed,” Kallus replied sleepily. “Sing me something?”

Zeb held him even closer in his warm embrace. Fondness rushed through the bond, embracing Kallus like a comforting blanket.

He drifted off to the low tones of Zeb singing a dulcet tune, like he had so many times before. But this time, he was tucked in his partner’s embrace, safe in a Rebellion captain’s ship that was also carrying two powerful Jedi and several Mandalorians—all of whom had made it past the Seventh Fleet's blockade and accepted him into the fold.

Feeling truly at peace for the first time in years, he slept.

  


* * *

  


By the next morning, the dulling effects of Kallus’s pain tabs had tapered off, and he suddenly remembered something important he’d forgotten the previous night.

After Zeb helped him sit up, Kallus asked him to collect the Imperial uniform he’d so carefully stripped from him the night before.

Zeb’s face wrinkled, and his ears flickered in bewilderment. “You wanna keep these?”

“No, the Rebellion can have them. But there’s something I snuck out. Something for you. It’s small and sewn to the inside.”

Zeb turned the tunic around in his hands, searching for what Kallus was describing. He found the raised square on the left side of the tunic, over which the ISB cuirass would usually go. Kallus hoped he didn't notice that it would have sat over his heart; he had been in a maudlin mood the day he decided where to hide it.

“Cut it open,” he suggested. “Carefully, please.”

Zeb obeyed, gently using a claw to tear the seams. In his lap fell a little datacard. It was small enough that almost dropped it.

“I said carefully!” Kallus reached out, alarmed, before wincing at the way his ribs hurt at the brisk motion.

Zeb gently guided Kallus's arm back to his side and caressed it lightly. “I got it, I got it.” He turned the card around in his palm. “What is this?”

Kallus smiled. “It’s my gift for the third courting rite. I hope you like it.”

Zeb glanced at him in surprise. When Kallus nodded encouragingly, Zeb retrieved his datapad from one of the drawers beneath his bunk. He slotted in the datacard, and a video began playing on the pad’s holoprojector.

When the first measure of music began playing, Zeb turned to him again, shocked. “What is this?”

“Just watch and listen,” Kallus said. Zeb sat down on the bed beside him, and Kallus leaned in close. He knew this video like the back of his hand now, so he mostly watched for Zeb’s reaction. He hoped he hadn’t overstepped.

By the end of the second clip, though, tears were streaming down Zeb’s face. “This is Lasan,” he said, not taking his eyes off the holo. “The Spring Festival. What is this? How did you get it?”

“I tracked down sellers on the HoloNet and then paid them exorbitant amounts of money,” Kallus said drily. “But each of them usually only had a tiny clip. Your embroidery inspired me—I decided to stitch them together so they could be viewed in one sitting.”

“Karabast, Alexsandr,” Zeb said hoarsely.

The holo was playing a clip of a parade, the enormous, incredibly detailed floats decked out in flowers and lights. Zeb started laughing when the being recording it joined the parade with a whoop.

“ _Wrosahn_ probably had too much Gorimm wine to drink,” he snickered, wiping tears from his face.

“ _Wrosahn,_ ” Kallus repeated, then winced at his terrible accent. “What does that mean?”

“It’s how we referred to off-worlders who weren’t part of Lasat clans by marriage,” Zeb explained.

“Ah, I guess that’s what I would be.” He tried saying it again.

Zeb corrected his pronunciation, and then said, “Not if you don’t want to be.” He looked away quickly.

Kallus's heart skipped. He stared at Zeb.

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“Maybe,” Zeb said cautiously. He rubbed his neck and peeked at Kallus. “Forget it—you don’t have to answer that right now. We have time.”

“Yes,” Kallus agreed, leaning over to cup his chin and bring him in for a kiss. Zeb returned the kiss sweetly, then affectionately nuzzled Kallus's cheek.

For a while, they got lost in each other. Because of the intimacy the bond had afforded them, it somehow felt entirely new yet utterly familiar.

“Time,” Kallus repeated, smiling, when they separated. The holorecording was still playing, now featuring a busker with lilac stripes playing a lively jig, the horn in his hands draped in colorful tassels.

Careful of his wounds, Kallus laid his head on Zeb's shoulder and let him wrap a warm arm around him as they began rewatching Kallus’s gift.

There was nowhere in the galaxy he would rather be.

  


* * *

  


They ate breakfast together in the galley, Zeb making space waffles and pouring Kallus the ration of citrus juice he was allowed for the week.

Then Chopper tried to upstage him by giving Kallus _two_ weeks’ worth of juice, which he had insisted on receiving as a member of the team but then only ever used as a bargaining chip to get out of doing chores.

“This C1 unit is not only efficient but also generous,” Kallus said, awed, as he accepted the gift. Zeb rolled his eyes as Chopper tilted his helm for Kallus to pet.

At the end of the meal, Kallus offered Zeb the last bite of his waffle, speared on his spork. It felt so natural for Zeb to lean forward to eat it directly from the utensil. The domesticity made his heart ache with longing—for this simple life, where their lives weren’t at risk and nothing mattered but these tender moments.

Kallus must have felt his emotions through the bond because he wordlessly pressed his thigh against Zeb’s and sent him a surge of assurance. Smiling, Zeb pulled him closer and sampled his juice-stained mouth.

Hours later, the _Ghost_ and the other rebel vessels landed on Yavin 4. Kanan, Sabine, and Ezra had left with the Mandalorians at their third hyperspace jump point, but Hera, Rex, Chopper, Zeb, Kallus, and the rest of Phoenix Cell were to report to Massassi Group and begin combining their resources.

Just before he exited the ship, Kallus hesitated. He had changed out of his sullied ISB uniform and into some of Kanan’s spares, which were a tad small on him. But the Rebellion’s earth tones looked good on him, bringing out the gold in his hair. He fussed with it now, unaccustomed to the loose hairstyle Zeb had encouraged as they'd been getting ready earlier.

“You ready?” asked Zeb, his hand outstretched, palm up.

Kallus’s smile was small, but his eyes twinkled. Zeb felt a rush of affection through the bond as Kallus took his hand, entwining their vastly different fingers. 

“I am,” he said.

Hand in hand, they walked out of the ship and into their new life. Together.

  


  


  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come cry with me about Kalluzeb, Star Wars, and found family on [Twitter](http://twitter.com/morethansky)!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Let This Be the Healing [art]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29765895) by [litra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/litra/pseuds/litra)




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